


i just want to make a change

by subwaycars



Category: Marvel 616, Young Avengers
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subwaycars/pseuds/subwaycars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything, America is the constant Kate expected least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i just want to make a change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selenay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/gifts).



> Also minor Kate/Noh-Varr, and Kate/OFC.
> 
> Written before Issue 11+ so probably canon incompatible after that point.

“I’m good,” Kate says, which is only half a lie. She can feel all her limbs at least and nothing’s broken. Besides, head wounds just bleed a lot and all the rest of her cuts are superficial. She might end up looking like Clint by the time she gets out of this, with bandages plastered all over her body, but she’s not dead and Clint isn’t here to laugh at her, so she’s mostly okay with that.

America, of course, is fine. She’s maybe a bit bruised but she’s also near on indestructible most of the time, so she’s not going to have to worry about bleeding out. All the blood on her is either from her own busted up lip or its Kate’s, because, again, head wounds bleed a lot.

So they’re both more or less fine and not about to bleed out in a dank, subzero cave on some weird ass universe. It’s freezing, particularly to death, that Kate’s more worried about.

She drops down on the ground, grimacing when she sits in something cold and wet. _Ew_ , she thinks, scooting over a bit, but the damage has been done. She sighs.

America’s looking at her with that face she gets, like everyone around her is a little bit useless, but Kate’s been looked at in worse ways. Besides, America moves to sit by her, hand coming up to press against the cut on her forehead and Kate could forgive her most things after that. America is warmer than anyone she’s ever met. Kate figures maybe being indestructible and having super strength and the ability to fly real fast and travel the multiverse means America just runs hot. Right now she’s glad for it.

She tucks herself in a little closer and ignores the sound America makes, a bit confused and a bit annoyed. She’s a superhero that gives off more body heat than the shitty heater in Clint’s apartment. She can deal.

“Fucking dragons,” Kate says eventually, when she feels a little less like she might lose a toe or two. “I mean, seriously?”

“You run into them more than you’d think,” America says and nothing else, because, Kate’s pretty sure, she gets off a little on being as enigmatic and unhelpful as possible. America may not like people playing games, but she’s not all that fond of being upfront about herself either. Kate would glare at her, but it’s more effort than she’s willing to put into life right now.

“Well,” she says, waiting maybe a beat too long to respond. “I, for one, am glad there are no dragons in New York.”

She tilts into America a little more, wondering how long they been stuck here. It’s hard to gauge time in a cave and Noh-Varr had been holding her phone when the dragons had swooped in from nowhere. She hopes they’re fine- figures they probably are. America and her will find them in the morning, when there is light. They’re smart boys; they’ll survive the night.

“Do you miss it- New York?” Kate asks eventually. She rubs at her shoulder. It’s still a bit sore from when Teddy had hip-checked her into a tree. America hasn’t moved since she sat down, still as a stone, but she’s radiating warmth, so much that it feels a little like America’s vibrating with it. Sometimes Kate wonders what it takes to be so in control.

America doesn’t say anything, and Kate’s never been all that fond of silence, not like this anyway,  so she keeps on talking. There’s a bit of blood in her eye now, but she’s too tired to wipe it away.

“I miss it. It’s so vibrant. I went to Los Angeles for a while but it’s nothing like New York, not really. I miss the food and the people and all the stupid taxis you see downtown. I miss the dumb parties I go to just to piss off my dad. I miss Clint’s stupid apartment and the rooftop grillout and the bad beer we drink on his lumpy couch. I miss Lucky- you’d like him. He’s a good dog. He’s saved my life once or twice. Clint’s too. I miss being able to see Avengers Tower, you know. It was nice, knowing there were heroes out there- that I might even be one of them.”

She pauses for a breath. “There are no dragons there, either. I like that. Dragons suck.”

America laughs, her voice soft when she says, “I don’t miss home.”

She sounds so unlike America in that moment but Kate’s too tired to properly appreciate it. America shifts a little, maybe shrugging, and Kate grumbles, tucking her head between America’s shoulder and neck.

“I don’t miss 616 either,” America continues, voice quiet. “Earth-earth isn’t really anything special, not with a whole multiverse to explore.”

“That just because you haven’t seen the good bits yet. We’ll have to do that, when we get home. It’ll be great,” Kate says. She laughs. “There’s no place like home.”

America maybe says something, touches Kate’s face, but Kate misses it, trying to click her heels even though she’s sitting down. She giggles and maybe her head wound is a bit more severe than she thought, because she’s still giggling when she passes out.

 

*

 

Kate doesn’t wake up thinking today is the day I’m breaking up with Noh-Varr. She wakes up thinking a lot of things- that the persistent beep in the hall is annoying, that she could go for some pancakes, that she really needs to pee- but mostly she wakes up thinking today is the day she’s going home.

They’ve waited it out but it’s been a week and Mother is gone. It’s safe. There are no more universes to hop, fake Patriots to chase. There are no more bitter exes to fight or adventures to go on. They can finally go home, back to New York pizza and traffic and her dusty penthouse apartment and stupid parties and Clint’s bad beer. It’s such an enormous relief that Kate stays in bed for longer than she means to and by the time she stumbles out to meet the rest of the team she’s already got plans for the next two weeks.

Breaking up with Noh-Varr isn’t one of them.

Noh-Varr isn’t in any of them either.

She realizes that the moment she sees him, trying to convince Teddy of the genius of whichever new musician he’s discovered today. He’s waving his hands, all vibrant enthusiasm, face lit up like that one planet that seemed to have been made solely of fireflies, and there are no butterflies, no pounding heartbeats. Kate sees him and thinks, _this isn’t what I want anymore_ , and doesn’t know what to do with that.

This thing with Noh-Varr was never meant to go past one night. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, to do something new, to get out of her skin. She hadn’t been looking for a relationship, hadn’t been trying to fill an empty place in her life. She’d seen him and liked the way he smiled at her in the Californian sun and thought she owed it to herself to do something reckless. Turns out Noh-Varr’s one of the least reckless things she’s done, but that’s okay. She loves him, she does. He’s sweet and fun to be around and more than a little ridiculous. She loves his fascination with Earth, with music, his stupid, stupid beard she’s still not sure how they managed to convince him to shave. He’s never pushed or demanded or asked her for anything, and that’s all she ever wanted from a guy, all she ever needed. She doesn’t need it anymore.

She loves him but she’s not _in_ love with him, maybe hasn’t ever been, and they’re going home. She’s ready for a change.

Unfortunately, that’s not something she quite knows how to articulate, how to say to his face. She spends nearly the entire ride home curled up in a corner, watching the stars and worlds and space fly by, and tries to find the words.

Noh-Varr comes to sit by her eventually, and somehow, inexplicably, that makes it easier.

“You excited to be going home?” he asks, and Kate lets herself lean a little into him, even if she doesn’t look at him. Earth gets bigger and bigger the closer they get.

“Probably not as excited as you are, somehow?” she says, and listens to him laugh.

“I’m thinking of maybe going to a few concerts. Music is made to be listened to live.” He smiles at her, she can see it out of the corner of her eye. “I suspect you won’t be coming with me?”

Kate curls a little tighter into herself. She’s never been good at this part, never had to be. Eli just left. She’s not sure how to do this.

She does it the only way she knows how.

Kate turns to looks him in the eye. He deserves that. _She_ deserves that.

“’Fraid not,” she says. “I think I’d like to be alone again for a while.”

Noh-Varr smiles, reaches out to touch the side of her face.

“You’ll never be alone,” he says, solemn, like a vow, and this, this is why she let him stick around. Because he doesn’t know her better than she knows herself, but he knows her enough.

Their ship turns, readying to enter Earth’s atmosphere. The sun burns bright through the window, sets his hair on fire. Kate holds his gaze.

“Thank you,” she says. She nudges his thigh with her toes. He drops his hand.

“You’re something else, Kate Bishop,” Noh-Varr says, just as the ship touches down. He says her name in the same tone he used all those months ago to talk about The Ronettes, wistful and sweet and so full of adoration. Kate ducks her head, tucks a bit of hair behind her ears.

“I try,” she says, and grins. “I promise I won’t try to get revenge on you one day by murdering you. Or eating your soul.  It wasn’t clear what the Exterminatrixes wanted.”

“Thanks,” Noh-Varr says, the driest Kate’s ever heard him go, and she can’t keep from laughing. Nearly everyone’s off the ship, just her and Noh-Varr in the corner left. She stands up.

“See you around, lover boy,” she says. She smacks a kiss on his cheek and waggles her fingers goodbye.

Outside, New York is loud and vibrant, everything she remembers and everything she missed. She breathes in deep, and heads on home.

 

*

 

Clint’s apartment isn’t much different. It’s the first thing she notices when she lets herself in, balancing a box of pizza and a six-pack of beer. There’s a new lamp to one side and a book she doesn’t recognize on the coffee table, and there’s a pair of pants on the floor, but nothing much has changed.

The second thing she notices is Lucky, who pounces on her before she manages to make it more than three steps from the door. He licks her face before she can stop him, all slobber and horrible breath and she laughs. She laughs and realizes all over again how much she missed this, Clint and Lucky and this shitty apartment with its shitty coffee and shitty memories.

“Hey, boy,” she says, crouching down low. She sets the pizza as far away as possible, and wraps her arms around him, holds on tight. “I missed you.”

Lucky woofs softly, breathes heavily in her ear. He’s soft and warm and for the first time since she stepped off Noh-Varr’s ship yesterday, she feels like she’s really home.

Clint hasn’t appeared yet, which means he must not be home. Kate lets go of Lucky eventually, scoops up the pizza before he can get to it, and heads to the kitchen. Her mug is still clean, waiting in the cupboard for her. She puts on a pot of coffee.

She’s sitting on the couch, flipping through the coffee table book ( _Extraordinary Chickens_? Kate’s not sure she wants to know) with her feet on the table and drinking bad coffee with too much sugar, when Clint gets in. He’s got his bow up and pointed at her face before she manages to get all the way to her feet. She wants to feel offended but there’s too much of her that’s just glad to see him, beaten up and in desperate need of a haircut, but alive.

“Aw, you gonna greet me like that when you haven’t seen me in months?” she says, rocking back on her feet a little. She shoves her hand in her pockets, waits him out. It takes a moment. Sometimes Clint isn’t always the best as processing.

He gets around to dropping the bow eventually, and then he grabs her up in this big bear hug, all strong arms and laughter, and Kate lets herself press her face to his chest, inhaling.

“You need to do your laundry more often,” she tries, mumbling into his shirt, but she’s grinning too hard to really pull off the needed tone. Clint laughs right in her ear, and Kate hugs him as hard she can, feeling truly relaxed for the first time since she got back. Clint’s always been good at making her feel safe like that.

“I missed you, kiddo,” he says when he pulls away. Because he’s an ass, he musses her hair after he says it, so Kate is forced to kick him in the shin. Clint pulls his best wounded face, but Kate’s not buying it.

“There’s pizza and coffee and beer in the kitchen,” she says, ignoring his face completely, and disappears to get them some before she gets the urge to hug him again. They’ve had their moment. It’s enough sap to last them a few months.

Clint dives into the pizza with gusto, but Kate’s spent the last few months surrounded by teenage boys and barbaric manners doesn’t faze her much anymore. Besides, a glance in his fridge is enough to convince her that Clint’s been living off take-out again. His enthusiasm for food isn’t much of a surprise knowing that.

He slows down enough after the first two slices to ask her where she’s been.

“Around,” she says, chewing. “Saving the world, breaking hearts, you know how it is.”

Clint laughs, takes a long swig of beer. Kate copies him.

“What was threatening us this time?”

“Interdimensional parasite that mind-wiped our parents, and a team of bitter exes. It was fun. There’s a universe where I’m a guy. And another one where we’re dating.”

“I don’t really want to know, do I?”

“Definitely not.”

She feeds the last few bites of her slice to Lucky, who’s been waiting patiently at her side for a whole five minutes. He woofs at her, all pizza breath. Clint burps, pats at her belly. She grimaces. _Her boys_ , she thinks, despairing.

"C'mon, let Lucky have the rest. We have to get you some groceries," Kate says eventually, once her beer has gone warm and all that's left are the dredges at the bottom that manage to taste worse than the rest of it. She forces herself to her feet, wiping crumbs off her pants. Clint groans, and flops over onto his side because he is ridiculous and lazy and the worst adult ever.

"Sure, thanks, Mom," he mumbles into the cushions. Kate will maintain that he totally deserves the pinch to his side.

"I'm doing this for me. I don't need you slowing me down because you got old and fat living off take-out," she says, and grabs his arm to haul him to his feet. "Besides, you can tell me what you’ve been up to on the way."

Clint groans again, but he pulls on a coat. "You definitely don't want to hear about that."

"Probably not," Kate says cheerfully, "but I'm going to make you tell me anyway."

The store is only two blocks away after all. That’s not enough time for Clint to tell her anything truly traumatizing.

She hopes.

"What's to tell?” Clint shrugs, trying to pull off nonchalant and missing it by a mile. “Like you said, saved the world, got the girl- superhero stuff. You know how it is, Katie Kate."

He punches her softly in the arm. Kate rolls her eyes.

"You've done more than that while I was gone, don't even.”

“Sure. There were the lizard people in Russia, the radioactive ferrets in Arkansas, the secret SHIELD missions in Belarus.” He ticks them off on his fingers, grinning at her.

“Really?” Kate says.

Clint hesitates, wincing a little. “No?”

Kate sighs. “I can’t tell if you're trying to keep a secret- and with SHIELD, who the fuck really knows? - or you really just don’t actually know.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure either,” Clint says. He rubs at the back of his head sheepishly and Kate wants to facepalm a little.

“Wow,” she says instead, and gives herself a moment. “Fine. What's up with Count Tracksuitula and his merry band of dubiously-accented misfits?"

They stop at the light. Cars whisk by, going too fast.

"Taken care of," Clint says, which no. Kate does not believe that.

"Seriously?" she says.

"Seriously." Clint pauses, sticks his hand in his pockets. He squints at nothing. "Well, mostly. They haven't bothered us for a while."

The light turns green.

"But they'll be back?” she asks, dodging past a cyclist. The sign for the market glows bright in the night, just a few feet away.

Clint sighs.

"They'll always be back," he says as he steps into the store. Kate grabs a cart and follows him inside, shivering at the sudden blast of the air conditioner.

"Has anyone told you recently that your life is ridiculous?" she says, patting him on the shoulder. Clint pulls a face that'd be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.

"Not since you so cruelly took my dog and walked out of my life,” he says, steering them towards the cereal aisle. “Thanks for bringing him back by the way. Next time, you should come back to.”

“Hey, I did eventually,” she says, as Clint dumps a couple boxes of Life in the cart. She grabs a box of Trix for herself. Clint shakes his head.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t stay gone so long next time.”

Kate wants to make a joke about him being worried, but she thinks he might have been. It’s a nice thought. She doesn’t want to make fun of him for it.

“Saving the world,” she says instead, and heads down the aisle to find the biggest bag of sugar they have.

They get through three more aisles, picking things up and waving them at each other in a silent question before tossing them into the cart. And then they hit the produce section.

Kate grabs a bell pepper, brandishing it in Clint’s direction. Clint grimaces, which is reason enough to chuck it in the cart.

She throws in a bag of spinach and a bit of ginger as well, reaching for the celery.

“What do you even do with this?” Clint says, taking it from her before it can join the rest of its fellow green things in the cart. Kate takes the moment to pick up a bag of apples and a lemon.

“You are the worst excuse for an adult I’ve ever met,” she says, which may not be fair since she’s met herself and all.

Clint says, “Thank you,” and whacks her in the head with the celery.

Kate drops some sort of squash in the cart as revenge.

“I’m not going to eat that,” Clint says, poking at it. Kate grins.

“But you’ll waste your money buying it. There is literally no way I lose here.”

“You say that now, but you’ll be singing a different tune when I force-feed it to you next week. You’ll suffer alongside me yet, Kate Bishop.”

Kate scoffs, and heads down the nearest aisle, Clint still grumbling behind her.

She’s just reaching down to grab a bag of rice, when she notices the girl at the end of the aisle.

“America?” she says, surprised. She’s got a basket with two things in it- milk and cornstarch- and there isn't a single star or stipe anywhere on her jacket, but it’s definitely America.

"Yes, that is where we are,” Clint says. Kate ignores him.

"Yo," America says. She reaches over to grab something that Kate doesn’t recognize, but thinks might be candy. She doesn’t look terribly surprised or, when she flicks her eyes up and down real fast, terribly impressed. Kate's wearing a pair of purple sweatpants she’s had for years, and Clint is Clint, so she can’t really blame America for that reaction. America tosses the maybe-candy into her basket.

“It’s Pulparindo,” America says, following Kate’s gaze. “Not as good as the stuff they make on Earth-794, but it’s decent.” She shrugs.

“Right," Kate says, and then pauses. She has no idea, she realizes, what America does or where she goes when she isn't with the rest of the team. America watches her, like she’s waiting her out.

"Where do you even live?” Kate blurts out, maybe a little ruder than she meant. Clint snickers. She elbows him in the ribs, and smirks when he winces. America doesn't look particularly charmed, but she hasn't quite got that look on her face that she used to get after dealing with Loki for more than ten minutes. Kate counts it as a win.

“Around,” America says, because America doesn't like giving personal information. Because she is ridiculous. Inwardly, Kate rolls her eyes. Clint clears his throat and she rolls them outwardly as well.

"Clint, this is America," she says. "She's a, uh, teammate?"

She knows Clint caught the hesitation in the middle of the sentence and the question mark at the end, thinks America probably did too. America raises her eyebrows just a hint. Kate scrunches up her nose.

"Hey," America says, something like a nod in greeting. Kate shakes her head.

"America, Clint Barton, original Hawkeye, sometimes superhero-partner, and all around useless human," Kate says, waving a hand around. This whole thing, clearly, has gotten away from her.

“Hey,” Clint says, offended, catching Kate by the waist and trying to give her a noogie because he lives to be as embarrassing as possible.

At the same time, America says, “I know who he is."

“Right, " Kate says, batting at Clint’s hands, trying to get him away from her. Clint laughs, because he’s an asshole.

"So, uh, I'll see you around?" she adds, because this whole thing has gotten entirely too awkward and ridiculous and just wow.

America maybe smirks.

"Sure,” America says, and she’s definitely smirking. “See you around, Girl Wonder."

She raises two fingers in something like a farewell and disappears down the aisle towards check-out.

Kate watches her leave. Clint’s shoulders are shaking in silent laughter. She mentally curses everything.

"Girl Wonder?" he says, and she whacks him in the arm.

“Don’t even think about it,” she says, but Clint’s still laughing, the damage done. Kate sighs, but she’s maybe a little too pleased to be home to be really annoyed.

She still takes the opportunity to throw the next green, leafy and utterly terrifying thing she sees into his cart. It's the principle of the thing.

 

*

 

New York is overrun with oversized lemurs that shoot violently orange laser beams from their eyes less than two weeks after they get back. This interrupts Kate’s grand plans for the day, namely binge watching every episode of Shark Tank in existence while eating ice cream straight out of the container in her pajamas. Needless to say, she isn’t happy when she gets the call from Clint to suit up.

Clint calling her is pretty much like calling the rest of the Young Avengers now that they’re finally back in play (that’s Kate’s story and she’s sticking to it), so it’s the rest of the team she meets up with in Central Park twenty minutes later. The battle against oversized lemurs is still going strong.

“Thoughts?” Billy asks, practically vibrating with magic. Kate grins. That’s her boy.

“Well, they seem to be really big lemurs with laser eyes,” Tommy says, ever the smartass. He’s running in place, his usual warm-up, feet going so fast they’re just a blur of green. Kate rolls her eyes but David’s the one who whacks him in the arm.

"Right,” Teddy says, fond and longsuffering in turns. “Battle plan?”

Kate isn’t expecting them to all turn to look at her, but they do, one by one, even America. She stares back, thinks.

There’s smoke and dust in the air all around them and her blood is burning with it. She’s missed this, the simple absurdity of superhero-ing, without crazed interdimensional parasites or fake teammates.  Somewhere to the left a lemur lets out a noise that sounds, strangely, like a kitten.

“How about,” she starts, readying her bow to buy her another moment. She glances at America, and it’s easy suddenly, to come up with a plan. She grins, wild. “Punch everything?” she says and cocks a brow.

America laughs, a fierce bark of sound, and Teddy’s already hulking out before she stops. Noh-Varr salutes.

“Aye-aye, captain,” he says, at the same time America goes, “My sort of plan.”

And then they're running towards the sounds of battle.

It always feels dorkier than it looks, and Kate can’t help but laugh as a lemur comes lumbering around the corner, taking out a hotdog stand with its tail. America, Teddy and Billy take flight, and it’s easy for Kate to take aim and shoot.

They’re the back-up’s back-up’s back-up, fighting alongside the Avengers and the New Avengers and the Mighty Avengers and whatever other Avengers team is out there, but it’s weirdly fun. A lemur nearly takes David and her out with its tail and Tommy definitely trips over a fire hydrant at one point but there are no civilians to dodge or the fate of the world to worry over.

“I see you brought the whole team along,” Clint says when she runs into him mid-battle. She’s not sure exactly where he came from, too busy focusing on dodging lasers, but it feels natural to have him at her back. She grins, blood in her teeth.

“Figured you guys could use all the help you could get,” she says, laughing. Clint scoffs, and proceeds to make an impossible shot. Show-off.

“Try these,” he says, slinging a bundle of arrows at her. Kate barely manages to catch them.

“Tranqs? Seriously?” she says, eyeing them. Clint shrugs, turning away to shoot the lemur one last time. It actually goes down after one more wobbling step.

Clint grins. “Takes about three shots to take them out, but it works. Better than sticking them full of regular arrows, at least.”

Kate eyes up the lemur again.

She keeps the damn arrows.

The next lemur they take out together.

“Nice shooting, Hawkeye,” Clint says heading off, already following another lemur down the street. Captain Marvel flies after him.

“Right back at you, Hawkeye,” Kate calls after him, turning to focus on the lemur that’s somehow managed to trap Billy against a newspaper kiosk.

It’s a blur after that, back to back with Billy, with David, with Spider-Woman. When it ends, she’s not even sure why. One minute the lemurs are there, in the next, gone without a trace. Clint doesn’t look too concerned when she finds him again amid the (thankfully minor) wreckage though, so Kate makes the executive decision not to worry about it. She’ll leave that to Captain America.

Instead she and the team follow everyone back to the Tower, the lot of them trooping in covered in dust and dirt. It feels strangely natural, digging through the fridge alongside the Avengers, like they’ve finally earned their place. Steve isn’t looking at them like they’re kids anymore. Jessica Drew isn’t rolling her eyes. Instead, Tony is tossing chips at Tommy’s head and Noh-Varr is beaming at Natasha, Teddy and Billy not far away, like they’ve been here all along.

Kate swipes two sodas and a bag of chips and goes to find America.

America’s in a corner, radiating fuck off vibes the way she sometimes does. Kate ignores them, too caught up in victory to really care. She tosses a can at America, ignores the blank look America shoots her.

“Chips?” she offers, titling the bag towards America. She settles onto the arm of the couch America’s commandeered, giving her a quick once over. There’s a laser burn stretching down her left arm, but besides that, America looks unhurt.

It takes a moment, but eventally America steals a handful. Kate grins, sits back, and takes the moment.

 

*

 

Kate’s not sure how it happened, too busy covering David at the time to see it. She’s there for the fallout though, America injured in the way she so rarely gets, arm tucked against her body as she paces about like a caged tiger, deadly and powerful and so contained. America’s angry all the time, it’s something Kate figured out long ago, but America isn’t snarling and wild in her anger. She holds it inside her, lets it sharpen her actions. She’s precise in her movements in a way Kate can only be in awe of. Kate’s anger has never been such a careful thing.

“What happened?” she asks quietly, finally stepping all the way into the room. They’re lucky Billy’s family is still out. There’s hardly enough room for the seven of them in the living room as is.

Teddy shakes his head. “I don’t know. One minute she was fine, the next there was blood. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t even know she could get hurt.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Kate says, already moving closer. No one else seems to be willing to, and though they’ve never talked about it, they treat Kate like their leader. So this is her job. America is _her_ people.

That doesn't make approaching her any less terrifying.

“America,” she says softly. “Can I get you anything?”

She doesn’t reach out to touch even though a part of her wants to. She’s not that dumb. Just because America’s injured doesn’t mean she’s incapacitated.

“I’m fine,” America gets out through gritted teeth, pained and stubborn. Kate wonders idly how many times she’s ever gotten hurt, _really_ hurt.

“Can David look at your arm?” she tries after a minute more of America’s pacing. America ignores her, the same way she’s blown off any dude who’s ever hit on her- with a general air of _you’re an idiot_.

Kate’s not hurt by it, but she’s not all that happy about it either. She gives into the impulse, reaches out and grabs America’s good wrist, because she won’t let America hurt herself more.

America startles under her hand, swinging around to face her, and Kate braces herself for a hit that never comes.

“Let David look at your arm,” she says, a command this time, and America’s gaze sharpens somehow, like she’s focusing on Kate. Kate holds her breath. For a minute the room is so silent Kate’s sure no one else is breathing either.

America’s shoulders finally drop. Kate exhales.

David heads towards her after another moment, and Kate drops America's wrist, finally steps away.

She takes a moment to just breathe.

Kate hovers for a few minutes, but David’s got it covered, running careful hands down America’s arm. She leaves him to it, heads for the kitchen instead.She returns with a box of Pop-Tarts. It’s not much but it’s the best she’s got and food’s the only thing Kate’s sure America likes, except maybe, punching things, and that’s not something America can really do right now.

America doesn’t say thanks but she eats it and let’s David patch her up. It’s good enough.

 

*

 

His name is Jake and he’s not funny or sweet or interesting the way Noh-Varr was, though Kate figures that’s not a fair comparison to make. Not everyone can be an alien with a spaceship, after all. But he’s not lovely and hesitant and good in the way Eli was either. Jake is nice, and a little bland and maybe a little smug.

“I just got back from a month-long trip to Africa. It was so inspiring, seeing those people living in such horrid conditions,” he says and Kate nods, does her best to look enthused and not just roll her eyes. She takes a long drink and keeps nodding. Jake just keeps talking.

In high school, the sort of friends Kate had would probably have told her she needed to get back out there. A month was enough time to spend getting over a break-up.

That’s probably the reason she doesn’t talk to any of them anymore.

Still, she’s apparently getting back out there anyway.

It’s not that she’s looking for a guy to spend the night or a relationship or any of that. It’s not just that she’s maybe a little bored, restless in her own skin. It might be, a little, her feeling like she has something to prove. Mostly she’s here, at her first high-class New York party since she’s got back, and so is Jake, talking to her like he thinks it might get him somewhere.

Kate is almost inclined to let him, for kicks.

Except then her phone’s vibrating, right as Jake was really getting into his story about all the tiny children on death’s doorstep or whatever. Kate’s actually a bit surprised at how relieved she is.

 _I may be in a bit of a jam_ , flashes up on her screen, alongside Tommy’s name and Kate has to sigh.

“I’m so sorry, but I really have to go,” Kate tells Jake. She tries to look contrite but doesn’t think she actually manages to pull it off. She’s already dialing Tommy’s number.

“But-,” Jake says. Kate ignores it, willing Tommy to pick up.

“Where are you?” she says when he finally does, already heading for the door.

“Kate,” Tommy says brightly, all fake-surprise. Kate glares at her phone.

“What did you do?”

“Aw, Katie baby, don’t be like that,” Tommy says. He sounds winded. Kate gets in the elevator.

“Call me baby one more time, Tommy, I dare you,” she says cheerfully, punching the ground floor button with more force than necessary.

Tommy makes a noise that could be agreement.

“Meet me at the burger place, yeah?” he says finally. Kate wants to ask what’s wrong, what happened, but she’s learned it’s better not to push Tommy. She’ll find out soon enough, anyway.

“I’ll be there in ten,” she tells him and hangs up.

She makes it in seven.

“Oh Tommy,” she says when she sees him. The lighting probably makes it look worse than it is, the yellow hollowing out his eyes and making the bruise across his jaw stand out in sharp relief. There’s a thin line of what could be blood just above his right eyebrow, and he’s holding himself more rigid than Kate’s used to seeing him, which means more injuries hiding under his clothes. He looks beat up and wrung out and Kate wants to touch, take away some of that pain.

“Hey, Kate,” Tommy says, maybe a little sheepish but definitely a little proud. Kate shakes her head.

“What did you do?” she says, just now noticing his split lip. Tommy grins and it oozes a little more.

“I was just taking a walk, and then there was this girl and a dark alley, you know how it goes,” he says, all nonchalance and Kate has to laugh a little, softly, sadly. Tommy’s a bleeding heart through and through, though he’d never admit it, covering it up with bluster and bravado. He's the sort of person made to be a hero, made to _fight._

He's bruised and battered and grinning like he doesn't care what that costs him.

He breaks Kate's heart.

“Oh Tommy,” she says again and doesn’t touch. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a burger.”

They sit outside, backs against the table, facing the street. It’s got to look more than a little ridiculous, Kate in her fancy dress, Tommy beat up and scruffy, burgers in their laps. They take a few bites in silence. Kate’s waiting Tommy out. He called her for a reason, but Tommy’s never been all that good about asking for help, so she stays quiet, lets him work up to it.

“Think I could crash at yours tonight?” Tommy asks in between bites, and Kate thinks, _there it is_. “It’s not like I can go to Billy’s looking like this and David would yell at me if I went to his.”

Kate glances sideways at him, eyes his bruises and his tired eyes. She can see why he’d like to avoid that.

“Sure,” she says easily. “I’ve got the room.”

Tommy beams at her. Kate grins back, despite herself. The past few years hit her all over again, settle heavy in her bones.

“I missed you,” she says.

Tommy laughs. “Of course you did,” he says with a wink, but his smile is smaller, pleased.

“Ass,” Kate says, bumping him with her shoulder. Tommy looks delighted. Kate leans into him a little, and it’s better than “getting back out there”, with all the stupid boys and their stupid voices and dull opinions. Tommy leans a little into her too, chewing happily.

They finish their burgers in silence.

 

*

 

“Hey there, loner,” Clint says, leaning up against the wall next to her. He offers her a flask right after, spikes her punch liberally with what might be vodka or might be tequila. It saves him a punch to the arm.

The party is Billy’s idea, but Kate’s pretty sure Billy only has the idea because of Teddy. Most of Billy’s ideas involve Teddy, for better or for worse.

As luck has it, this is one of the better ones he’s had recently, even if it’s all kind of terrifying. The Avengers let them take over the Tower for it, decked it out in tinsel and candy canes and mistletoe without them even asking. Billy's family is there, the twins oohing because superheroes, and Wanda and Pietro are there, with Tommy just about glowing under their attention. Bobbi and Jess and Carol are sipping eggnog by the giant ass Christmas tree (Kate has no idea how they got ahold of that in the middle of April) and Bruce Banner is in the corner, rubbing at his forehead but looking pleased. None of the X-Men really show up, but David doesn't seem to mind and Noh-Varr seems happy enough with being able to talk Tony’s ear off about space, now that Tony’s back on-world.

It’s all very _sweet_ , giving the team the holiday party they couldn’t have off-world (and off-universe), but it still involves horrifying Christmas music and roasted marshmallows and hot chocolate, and Kate’s never been good at these sorts of things.

Hence the hiding out in the corner.

She can do fancy parties with the rich and vapid like breathing, but things like this, parties with family and friends that _mean_ something, they always leave her a little off balance. They remind her of her mom, of actual Christmases with handmade presents and not just checks and the latest designer handbag.

Clint's just as awful at them, Kate knows, would have known it even if Clint hadn’t offered her his flask. She’s glad he’s here though, and not just so the two of them can get quietly tipsy in the corner. This isn’t the sort of thing she’d bring her father to, her sister. Her team and Clint are the closest things to family she’s got at this point. She’s glad she can share it with them, as painful as it might all turn out to be.

It’s worth it, to watch Billy laugh, bright and happy again, to see Teddy look at him without having to wonder. She wishes Eli could be here, Cassie and Jonas too. She misses them, the Christmases they shared. She’ll have to get Tommy to send Eli's family a card.

From across the room, Lucky barks where he’s got his head firmly planted in Natasha’s lap, and Clint grumbles.

“Damn dog,” he says, but Clint’s always been an awful actor and his fondness is written all over his face. Kate shoves him away, towards where Natasha is not quite laughing as Lucky demands head pets.

“Go save the girl,” she says and laughs when he sticks his tongue out at her.

Tommy takes his place half a minute later, so it’s not like Kate minds being abandoned.

“You’ve turned to drink already?” he says, buzzing around her like a particularly excitable bee. His face is mock-disappointed, close up to stare at her solemnly. Kate shoves it away.

“I’ll need it if I’m going to have to deal with you all night,” she says, and grins when Tommy’s face turns wounded. She glances around the room, catches Teddy and Billy kissing beneath the mistletoe again. She nods their way. “Also, to deal with that.”

Tommy’s grimace looks like something out of a cartoon.

“Someone’s going to have to keep them away from the mistletoe,” he says, looking sadly into his non-alcoholic punch. Kate tips a bit of hers into it, just because.

“Aw, Katie-Kate,” he says, eyes lit up again, and Kate curses herself and her weakness for seeing Tommy Shepard smile a little. It’s a dangerous power he’s got.

“Yeah yeah, go break up the Wonder Couple over there before they scar us all for life,” she says, kicking at his heels to get him moving. He grimaces again, but dutifully heads on over. He runs into David on the way, who seems to have the same goal in mind, except it means they end up under the mistletoe as well.

Kate stays safe in her corner, cackling. She laughs even harder when Tommy frowns sadly in her direction. He does kiss David though, messy and enthusiastic with a bit of a dip at the end, much to David’s apparent dismay when Tommy lets him go. Tommy’s still bowing when David tugs him, Billy and Teddy far, far away.

They aren’t the only ones who get into the mistletoe action though. Noh-Varr tries to get all the pretty women in the room under it, and a few of the men too. Kate laughs and throws peanuts at him when he tries to waltz her under one, and instead takes cover by America, who Noh-Varr hasn’t dared attempt his loverboy routine on.

“Having fun?” she asks America, glancing over to where she’s standing, arms crossed, against the wall. She looks imposing, but she seems maybe mildly amused by it all. No one is here for her but she doesn’t seem to mind much. It’s probably what happens when you run away from home. Kate tried that once; it didn’t stick. She’s a little impressed by America for managing to achieve it.

America doesn’t answer with words, but she does nod slightly. Kate’s traded one corner for another and America’s so quiet it’s almost like being alone, but it’s nice. They watch the room, people swirling around them, all smiles and laughter, and Kate’s more than a little pleased. They did this, all of them. They got here.

She swallows the dredges of her punch and tries not to get emotional over it.

“I’m going to get another drink,” she says finally, pointing towards the kitchen. “You want anything?”

America glances at her, holds up her mostly full hot chocolate. “I’m good,” she says.

Kate shrugs, and ducks into the kitchen.

It’s quieter in there, colder. She’s fills up her glass, careful to leave room for alcohol. She’ll have to hunt Clint and his flask down again, but she’ll manage without for a few minutes. She’s snooping for a straw when Mr. Lang walks in.

“Hi,” she says, a little surprised. She didn’t know he would be coming. She’s glad he’s here though. If there’s anyone she counts as family beyond her team and Clint, it’d be him.

“Kate,” Mr. Lang says. “Merry Christmas.”

His smile is amused, and it makes Kate feel young and a little sheepish, even if the party totally wasn’t her idea.

“Merry Christmas to you to,” she says, clinking her glass with his. He laughs.

“I actually have something for you.” He pulls out a small box, carefully wrapped. She takes it, a little stunned. The paper has penguins and polar bears on it, dressed like superheroes. Kate traces a finger over them, grinning.

Clint and her exchanged gifts already, not long after she got back. He’d given her these awesome trick arrows he’d designed himself and she gave him a custom quiver (she’d even bothered Tony Stark into building it for her, so Clint had better have been damn pleased). The team had already done something like a gift exchange as well, on some backwater universe on Christmas day, give or take a few. They’d had a hard time keeping track of the actual date. She hadn’t expected Mr. Lang to give her anything.

She opens it slowly, making sure not to rip the paper too much. She wants to keep it. Inside the box, there’s a necklace, a little silver butterfly with painted wings hanging off the end of it. It looks old and well-loved and something in Kate aches.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, holding it up into the light. She laughs a little and it comes out watery. “I don’t have anything for you.”

Mr. Lang shakes his head. “That’s alright. The necklace was supposed to be for Cassie, but I wanted you to have it. She would have wanted you to have it.”

“Thank you,” Kate says again, fastening the chain around her neck. She touches the butterfly gently, smiles.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to your party,” Mr. Lang says, stepping away and holding the door for Kate. She steps back into the noise and warmth and happiness, and shivers. She turns back to hug him once, real quick, before waving and going to find Clint. She needs that alcohol after all, it seems.

“Hit me,” she says when she gets to him, holding out her cup. Clint looks up at her and laughs. Lucky nuzzles into her hip.

“Careful now, girlie,” Clint says and Kate does punch him this time. He delivers though, dumping a healthy amount of alcohol into her drink. Kate nurses it happily, feeling a bit more solid again.

Of course, that’s when someone points out the mistletoe.

Kate groans and Clint winces and next to them, Bobbi is laughing with more glee than is necessary, Kate thinks. She leans down to peck Clint on the cheek, and he keeps her still long enough to brush a kiss across her forehead. When she pulls back, he’s smiling sweet and sincere, the big dweeb, and Kate absolutely refuses to have emotions about it. She’s all emotioned out.

Instead, she takes her drink and gets the hell out of there, making sure to avoid all other sprigs of mistletoe at all costs.

It works out pretty well for a bit, until Tommy nudges her into America twenty minutes later when she makes the mistake of passing by him. Kate’s drank too much to not stumble, and because Tommy is as awful as Kate’s luck, there is definitely mistletoe hanging over their heads when Kate looks up. Rules are rules though, and America’s not Clint, so Kate kisses her properly.

She’s not quite expecting for America to just barely press the tips of her fingers to Kate’s jaw and kiss back, even if it’s only for a moment.

When she pulls back, Tommy whoops and Kate is forced to step away from America to smack him. It devolves into a tickle fight, Tommy’s arms tight and warm around her, until Kate is breathless and red in the face, and when she looks back up America’s gone like nothing happened at all.

She shakes it and Tommy off, and goes to find refuge next to Bruce on the couch, who hasn’t moved in an hour and still looks reluctantly amused by it all.

Stark gets Clint with the mistletoe not long after, dipping him like a heroine in a bad romance novel, much to Kate’s glee, and Jessica and Carol stumble under it later, arms linked and giggling, but giving everyone a show. Kate feels vindicated for not leaving her space on the couch where it is safe, when Tony gets Bruce even later. He gets Natasha five minutes after and then Mr. Kaplan, which is about the point where everyone realizes he’s doing it on purpose and then there’s lots of laughing and fake outrage and throwing marshmallows at his head. Everyone learns very quickly where the mistletoe is after that, and keeps an eye on Tony, just to be safe.

Kate watches it all, feet tucked up underneath her, as the fairylights twinkle a dozen different colors.

It's nice, all of it. It's the best Christmas Kate has had in a long time.

 

*

 

America puts her fork down carefully and apologizes to the nearest waitress. Teddy’s already hulking out and when she glances over, Billy’s magic-ed himself into his uniform. Kate has just enough time to be glad she has her bow on her, before the robots invade the diner. Then, she’s shooting.

It doesn’t take long to realize regular arrows are essentially useless against them. There’s a bit in the bottom left corner of whatever doubles for a robot’s brainstem, the size of a dime, that will slow them down just enough to give America or Teddy the chance for a nice one-two punch knockout, but in the confusion of a small diner filled with a lot of dust and civilians and robots, it’s not as easy of a shot as it should be. She doesn’t have any fancy trick arrows on her either, just the standard set. David’s having trouble too, his fighting skills not quite so effective without superstrength to back them up, nor the superspeed Tommy’s got to get in a few hundred punches before they can punch back.

Noh-Varr and Billy, at least, have enough alien tech and magic to be useful on the offense, so Kate being next to useless doesn’t cripple them too badly. She takes the shots she can, helps her team and watches their backs, and focuses on trying to get people out of the diner to safety.

Ten minutes into the fight, she’s crouched behind a table, stepping in something that might be mayonnaise and may be yogurt, and trying to pick off any robot she can. There are two blocking the door, one to the right that she can slow down easy enough, but the second refuses to turn its back on her group and Kate’s not dumb enough to risk hand-to-hand quite yet. David, thankfully, pops out of nowhere a moment later to distract it, and Kate can get her group to the door and out into the sunlight.

Everyone else will probably have to stay put. They’re either pretty much stranded with no good cover to get them for there to the door, or too surrounded by robots to get to without taking a few hits. They’re all mostly safe where they are anyway, and Kate’s also got a team to worry about.

“America, behind you,” Kate yells, case in point. It’s a little too late for America to completely avoid the robot that barrels into her. It’s a hit that would leave Kate out cold for at least a few hours, but America gets right back up and kicks the robot in the face like it was made of aluminum foil and not what is probably, knowing their life, titanium. She’s indestructible in the same way Teddy doesn’t have to worry about broken fingers when punching a robot in the face. She’s powerful in the sort of way that makes you take notice. In the way that is all natural.

Kate has to work for this. She has to fight every day, struggle to keep herself alive, to keep her teammates alive. But people like America, people like Teddy and Billy and Tommy and David and Noh-Varr, they were all born into this. She is surrounded by people who have greatness built into her DNA. She is surrounded by the divine while she fights to be extraordinary, and she can’t even hate them for it.

Teddy punches a robot so hard it goes flying through a window and then turns to help a women up from the floor. Tommy swoops in at lightspeed to scoop a kid out of the fray and safety deposit them behind a overturned table. Noh-Varr laughs as he shoots a robot in the face. Kate aims and lets arrow after arrow fly and hopes, today, once more, it is enough.

When it’s over, Kate’s almost as surprised as when they first heard the crash outside. One minute the place is full of robots and the next, they are surrounded by broken tables, plaster and inanimate hunks of metal.

“I don’t think we did that?” Teddy says, toeing one of the robots a bit. Naturally, it shifts a foot. David makes a noise like he agrees. Probably, they are right, but also probably, it’s the Avengers mess to deal with. Or SHIELD's. Or the X-Men’s. Or even the Fantastic Four’s.

“Fuck, who cares?” Tommy says, splayed across his back on the floor, even though Kate doubts he’s come to the same conclusion. He’s got a black eye from some robot’s lucky hit, and he actually sounds winded. Next to him, Billy stretches, groaning with feeling. Kate’s got no more than a few scrapes and a couple bruises, and Noh-Varr is the only other one of them with visible damage- a mild gash along his thigh. They’re alive and no one died.

That should be good enough.

Kate still feels, somehow, inexplicably, like they lost- like she’s losing.

 

*

 

They find themselves at Kate’s apartment this time, because she’s the only one with space big enough to hold them and they haven’t been to the warehouse since Latveria. It’s a bit dusty and disused, even after nearly two months of being back, because it’s easier to be at Clint’s or even at home where she can steal her Dad’s coffee and food. He’s the one paying for the apartment anyway. She doesn’t feel bad about not using it.

The dust isn't much of a problem though. Kate's got a big couch and a bigger TV, plus a few frozen pizzas and all the bottles of wine she was stockpiling before she left, which is all they really need.

They’ve got a movie on in the background, some romantic comedy Kate recognizes as something that came out while she was in LA but not something she ever saw, even if no one’s really paying attention to it. Billy and Teddy are doing that thing they do on the loveseat, not quite cuddling but sitting close and turned in to each other, and Tommy is practically in David’s lap on the floor, poking at him and chattering in his ear and basically being a general nuisance, while David just rolls his eyes, inching away, and looking mildly charmed despite himself. America turned down the wine, so it’s just her and Noh-Varr drinking, the three of them sinking into the couch. Kate closes her eyes, tries to relax despite the jitters she still feels in her blood.

“So,” Tommy says eventually, dragging the word out. Kate opens her eyes. “Are we ever going to make plans beyond team lunch and all? Like actual superhero stuff? Patrolling? Training? Etcetera and etcetera?”

Kate shrugs. “I thought we were taking a break?”

Tommy pokes at his black eye, looking skeptical.

“Well, mostly,” Kate amends.

“You still go out with Hawkeye though, don’t you?” Teddy points out, and Kate makes a face.

“Sometimes, but it’s not really a thing? It’s only happened like three times since I’ve been back and that’s only if he’s called me specifically. Otherwise I’m already there when things go down.”

“It’s not like Tommy’s not already patrolling anyway,” Billy says, head on Teddy’s shoulder. Kate did not know that, though, in hindsight, their burger night makes more sense. She glances at Tommy who’s grimacing like he knows what he’s in for. David looks pissed, so Kate thinks that the expression is probably warranted.

“On your own?” David says, turning to glare at Tommy. Tommy puts his hands up defensively, trying his best to look innocent. He’s not very good at it.

“Oh yeah,” Billy says, smug, because Billy is never not a brat when Tommy is concerned, even now. Kate sighs.

“Thanks, bro,” Tommy says, leaning over to punch Billy in the leg, rapid-fire, which Billy had to be expecting. He probably even deserves it, even if she isn’t all that happy with Tommy either.

“You should take someone with you,” she says, taking a healthy gulp of wine. She’s too tired for this shit.

“You’d all just slow me down,” Tommy says, sneering, because Tommy is also a brat. Billy opens his mouth.

“We’ve already had to rescue your ass once,” Teddy says easily, cutting Billy off. “Could you maybe not make yourself a target again?”

“I’d have to agree,” Noh-Varr says. “That wasn’t so fun the first time around. I doubt the second time would be better.”

Tommy doesn’t look particularly pleased.

“I’ll go with him,” David says finally. He sighs. “I was enjoying the break.”

Tommy lights up, jostling David with his elbow. “Oh shove it, bro. You were totally languishing at the call center. You live for this shit.”

David doesn’t disagree and Tommy slings an arm over his shoulders.

“Does this mean the rest of us are starting patrols then?” Noh-Varr asks. They all look to her. She frowns.

“I don’t know, what do you think America?” Kate says.

America shrugs. “I’m not involved.”

“What?” Teddy says, blinking at America.

“Look, I’m not a big fan of Earth-Earth- musical differences and all that.” She flicks her bangs out of her face with her fingers. Kate frowns. She thinks maybe America has told her that before, even if she can't quite place it.  “I was thinking about checking out a few other places in the Multiverse.”

“Wait, what?” Billy says, making a half-aborted move to stand up. Kate’s maybe a little drunk, because she throws her legs over America before America can move.

“You can’t leave now, you’re part of the team,” Teddy says, as earnest as ever, at the same time Kate says, “What’s not to like?”

America ignores Teddy to level Kate with a flat stare, all silence and judgment. Kate probably asked for that one. Still, from what she's seen of the Multiverse, there isn't all that much to like there either, and Kate’s not anything if not stubborn.

She says, “You’ve clearly not been exposed to the good stuff. I’ll have to show you it,” and keeps her legs flung across America's thighs like that could stop her from leaving.

America kind of squints at her for a moment.

“It’ll be fun,” Kate adds.

America doesn’t quite agree, but she doesn’t disagree either and she doesn't leave. Kate will take it. It’ll give her something to do.

 

*

 

Three days later, Kate’s wired, too much coffee and not enough sleep, and her hands are shaking. She’d be no good in the field right now, not when she couldn’t make an accurate shot to, quite literally, save her life. She’s maybe a little grateful the supervillains have apparently decided to give them the night off. She’s not like this normally, she never lets herself get this bad. She knows better than that.

She’s got no superpowers to compensate with. She has to rely on her own abilities and strive past the limits of a fragile body. It’s what helps to keep her teammates, her _friends_ , alive, and the moment she slips up, she could lose any one of them.

Kate’s so tired of losing the people she loves.

So she doesn’t ever let it get this bad, except for when she does, apparently.

She’s dialing America’s number before she really thinks about it. There’s no reason for it. America’s just the first person in her phonebook she could stomach right now, that she thinks maybe won’t judge her for being nothing more than human.

She doesn’t really expect America to pick up. She doesn’t even know when she got America’s number in the first place. She tilts her head back on the armrest, and closes her eyes, drifting to the dial tone.

“What’s wrong?” America says, and Kate blinks her eyes open.

She pulls her phone away, stares at it for a second.

“Kate?” America says, once, from far away, than twice, not worried, exactly, but nothing like fond, like patient. Kate brings the phone back up to her ear.

“I,” she starts. She has no idea what she’s doing. She shakes her head, says, “You should come over.”

And maybe America hears something in her voice, because she says, “Okay.”

She’s there in less than five minutes, superspeed-enhanced flight and all that, but Kate still manages to be a little surprised. It’s not that she didn’t think America would come. It’s just that she didn’t think America would come.

America doesn’t say _I’m here_ or _why am I here_ or _what’s wrong_ because America’s never been one for bullshit. She follows Kate inside, past the kitchen and the door to the bathroom and Kate’s bedroom and doesn’t say anything.

She sits down when Kate does, doesn’t look too hard or long.

“First up on the 616 Entertainment Curriculum,” Kate says, because she has to say something. She waves her hand towards the TV, unmutes. America glances between her and it once, frown slight but there.

“What is it?” she says finally, like it’s an alien species and not the United States’ particularly awful brand of reality TV. Kate feels something in her shoulders loosen, finally. She sits back, managing something like a grin.

“Toddlers and Tiaras,” she says, and revels in the face America makes. It’s easy after that, to relax, inch by inch, to let her hands shake themselves out.

“Can I get you anything?” she asks, after one episode becomes two becomes three. “Coffee?”

America glances between Kate’s hands and face. “You’ve had enough coffee for the both of us.”

“Fine, water?” Kate says, already shoving herself off the couch. She rotates her shoulder as she heads to the kitchen, tries to roll a persistent ache out. Three minutes into a new episode, and some kid’s already throwing a fit. Kate can hear it from down the hall.

“This show is terrible,” America says, just loud enough to be heard. Kate fills up two glasses with tap water and laughs.

“It really is,” she agrees, heading back towards the couch. America’s eyes track her when she enters the room again. Kate hands her a glass, proud when she doesn’t spill a drop.

“Is everything you’re planning on making me watch going to be this bad?” America asks.

Kate shrugs.

“Probably,” she says with absolutely no remorse. If America suffers through enough of it, maybe Kate will show her something good. Star Wars or the old Star Trek series. Maybe the third Harry Potter film. America might like Lord of the Rings.

America sighs, but she sips her water.

Onscreen a little blonde girl is dressed in a bright, sparkling pink dress with so many layers she looks like a cupcake. She twirls round and round to some song from a musical Kate’s never heard. Next to her, America snorts inelegantly.

“Did you ever do this?” she asks, leaning back to look at Kate. Kate wrinkles her nose, face twisting up in mild horror. Then, she thinks about it.

“I probably could have, if I’d wanted to,” she says, because it’s true. She had the money, the time. Her mother would have hated it, probably, but if Kate had wanted it, she would have let her. Her mother always knew better than to stand in her way when Kate wanted something.

“You think they would have let you have archery as a talent? Not too violent?” America says.She scoffs, like the idea that something could be too violent is absurd. Kate’s not surprised.

It’s not that America loves violence, she thinks; it’s that America doesn’t do bullshit. It’s mildly refreshing, even if it means, when she’s with America, Kate sees more punches thrown then she does in a battle featuring Iron Fist.

“Cello,” she says, finally. “It would have been cello.”

America blinks at her, the closest to surprised Kate’s ever seen her get. “You play?”

“Yeah, I did- _do_ ,” Kate says. She shrugs again. It’s not a big deal.

America nods slowly, like she’s slotting that in with everything else she knows about Kate and finding that it makes sense. Kate’s not sure she likes that, feels like a science experiment that’s been poked. She knows next to nothing about America, even after all this time. She doesn’t like being on such uneven ground.

It makes sense though. No one would ever mistake America as open, and they aren’t exactly friends, Kate knows. But then again, they’re not quite _not_ friends either. She doesn’t know what they are. Teammates, superheroes, girls, sure, and maybe something a little like friends, but she hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

Still, America is there, solid, despite the late night and bad TV and Kate’s shaking hands. Right now, for Kate, that’s good enough.

 

*

 

It becomes a thing after that, some sort of haphazardly scheduled weekly hanging out. Kate calls and America answers, and they do something. This week, Kate drags America out to a coffeeshop on a Tuesday morning. It’s popped up on her street sometime since she’s been gone and she’s been meaning to try it for a while. She still owes America a _thank you for babysitting me_ drink anyway, and it seems as good a time as any to kill both birds.

America looks confused, but not outright hostile, so it’s another plus in Kate’s book.

The coffee shop is warm and bright, all creams and browns and textured wood, like a Starbucks and an LA coffeeshop had a baby. Kate likes it.

“What do you want?” Kate asks, stepping up to the register. “My treat.”

America gives her a long look. Kate refrains from rolling her eyes.

“Relax, I’ve had enough coffee to last me the month. I’m just getting a chai latte.”

America doesn’t look particularly impressed, but she does say, “White hot chocolate,” which isn’t what Kate would have expected, but she’ll take it.

“Go find a table then,” she says, nudging America away and ordering. She brings the drinks to their table when their ready and like always, flounders for things to say. You’d think spending months traveling the universe and then a few others would mean you got to know a person, but even now, Kate knows less than a handful of things America likes, and she’s not even positive about most of them.

In the end, she falls back on what they both know.

“So Teddy finally found out about Tommy’s couch surfing yesterday, and he yelled at him until David came to the rescue. They’re moving in together, much to both of their horrors." She laughs. "It’s cute how they like to pretend they’re not best friends.”

America makes a face like she doesn’t particularly care, but Kate thinks she’s amused somewhere in there.

“Apparently when Tommy told Eli, Eli laughed at him for a straight five minutes,” Kate adds, stupidly fond. America perks up.

“Where is he now?”

“Eli? Arizona. Moved with his mom after everything,” she says, after a moment of hesitation. She shakes her head, tries to laugh it off. “He spent like 90% of his life being exasperated with all of us- you guys would probably get along. We’ll have to make him visit one of these days.”

America hums a little, doesn’t give a proper answer, but Kate’s getting used to that now. She’s getting better at this whole carrying on a one-sided conversation thing.

Doesn’t mean she still doesn’t need to take a moment to regroup. She falls back on her other hanging out with America tactic: food.

“I’m going to grab a croissant, do you want anything? A sandwich?” she says, taking a quick sip of her drink.

America does that thing with her face she does whenever Kate offers her food, something a little pleased and a lot confused and maybe a tiny bit angry. Kate’s grown pretty accustomed to it, maybe even a little fond with the way her brow furrows and her mouth twitches between a smile and a frown. Kate smiles, waits.

There’s a beat and then America narrows her eyes. _Ah_ , Kate thinks. America was bound to notice eventually.

“Is there a reason you’re always trying to feed me?” America asks, and Kate shrugs.

“If I’m bothering you, I can stop,” Kate says. America makes a face that Kate’s starting to think means she’s rolling her eyes on the inside.

“If I minded,” she says, “I’d tell you.”

“Good,” Kate says, and grins, maybe a bit wicked, around the edge of her cup. “Because I probably wouldn’t have actually stopped and I’d really rather you not punch me in the face. I’ve seen what you did to those robots. It’d probably hurt.”

America grins, the way Kate always imagined sharks might.

“You’re safe. Unless you try to get me to watch more episodes of Toddlers and Tiaras. I might have to punch you for that.”

Kate laughs.

“How do you feel about the Kardashians?” she says and goes to buy America a sandwich.

 

*

 

“Try this,” Kate says, balancing a piece of honey walnut shrimp on her chopsticks and holding it out to America. America raises her eyebrow, but dutifully takes the bite. She chews slowly, looking at nothing in particular, before swallowing.

“It’s alright,” she says finally, with a shrug, and goes back to eating her vegetable lo mein.

“Just alright?” Kate says, scoffing. “Fine, let me have some of yours then.”

She leans into America, reaching over her shoulder to grab some before America can pull it away. The laugh track goes off, but they stopped paying attention to the episode of Friends they were watching the moment food arrived, and Kate has no idea what’s going on anymore. She pops the lo mein into her mouth with a noise of triumph.

“It’s good,” she says, mouth still full. America wrinkles her nose.

“Yeah yeah,” she says, leaning away so Kate can’t steal anymore. “Eat your own food.”

Kate ruins her pout by taking a big bite of her eggroll a moment later.

America shakes her head, yawning.

“Wild night?” Kate says, eyebrows raised, though this time she waits to swallow before speaking. The last time she’d seen America actively tired, she’d been kicking open portals for a week straight. She leans over to steal another bite of America’s lo mein.

“Patrolling,” America says, fighting off Kate’s advances. She shrugs. “No biggie.”

Kate freezes, chopsticks in mid-dive.

“Patrolling?” She blinks, turns to look at America properly. “You mean the Spider-Man, Daredevil, vigilante, keeping the streets free of muggers sort of patrolling? The _we just yelled at Tommy for doing this_ patrolling?”

America frowns. “Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes,” America repeats, sitting back. She’s frowning harder now, brow furrowed. Kate fumbles for the mute button.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?”

America scoffs, her frown turning into a glare.

“Seriously? You do realize I’ve been doing this alone since I was 15?”

“So?” Kate says, because that’s not the point she’s trying to make. She’s not even sure what the point is, but it, _this_ , it feels important. America sets her food down onto the coffee table and crosses her arms.

“It’s not a big deal, Kate. I can handle myself.”

“It’s not a question of you being able to handle yourself,” Kate says, and it comes out louder and angrier than she means it to. There’s a bit of her that’s suddenly furious. She can feel it in the way her muscles tense all along her shoulders, her back, in the way her head pounds. Kate takes a deep breath, a second one, closes her eyes.

Finally, she says, “You know you have a team, right?”

America’s watching her, when Kate opens her eyes again. She doesn’t know what’s going on with America’s face, doesn’t know how to read the expression there. Kate doesn’t even know how they got here, in this strange little argument. It had been good. They’d bene fine. She feels so tired.

When America’s phone rings, Kate jumps. America turns away.

“Yo,” she says. Kate stares at her back, lost. Kate didn’t even know America knew other people. She always forgets how little she actually knows about America. America’s nodding her head, and Kate has no idea about anything right now.

She hangs up with a sigh after a minute, rolling to her feet. She grabs her jacket, tucks her phone into her pocket.

“Later, Princess,” she says, stepping out onto Kate’s balcony, and Kate can’t tell if she meant for that to sounds so sarcastic. She watches America turn into a smear of color across the sky. The food’s gone cold by the time she puts the episode back on.

 

*

 

A week later, Kate’s still kinda bothered by her and America’s not quite argument. She hasn’t seen or heard from America since, though David mentioned at lunch the day before that he’d seen her on Saturday. It’s not that Kate’s worried or even that she misses America terribly (she might miss her a little, but they’ve gone longer without talking since this friendship thing started). Kate just doesn’t like leaving things unfinished.

She gives it another day before she cracks.

“Pack a day bag,” Kate says when America answers her phone. “You’re coming with me.”

“And where would that be?” America asks, indifferent, but Kate can’t already hear her opening drawers.

“It’s a surprise,” Kate says, mostly to hide the fact that she has no idea. She’s got a car though and a full tank of gas, and she’s itching to get out of the city. America has seen the Multiverse. Kate thinks maybe she’d enjoy getting out too.

“The rest of the team not coming?” America asks when she arrives to find Kate waiting with the keys in her hand, bag slung over her shoulder. There’s a weird emphasis on the way she says team, but Kate chooses to ignore it. It’s possibly the most passive-aggressive she’s ever seen America get, and if she wasn’t still a little pissed somewhere deep down, she might even find it amusing, but Kate’s not interested in getting into it right now.

Instead, she heads for her car. America follows.

They spend the first half hour stewing in their own silence, in subtle friction, just the noises of the city outside eventually fading into the noises of the highway. It takes that long for Kate to feel like she can breathe through all the emotions jumbled up in her head- she’s long since lost the ability or want to even try to categorize any of them. It’s like America realizes it, because it’s right about then that she opens her mouth.

“You know you worry too much,” she says looking over at Kate, not quite an accusation, but not all that friendly either. “Always with the quarterlife crises and the overthinking and shit. You don’t have to grow up so fast. Stop trying to be my mother.”

Kate looks away from the road to meet her eyes, says, exasperated, “I wasn’t trying to be your mother. I was trying to be your _friend_.”

She holds America’s gaze until she can’t anymore. America doesn’t look chastised or apologetic or anything, which doesn’t actually surprise Kate. America’s stubborn and she likes a fight. She’s not quite the sort to say she’s wrong. Her faces does something though, relaxes maybe. It’s the sudden absence of the tension that makes Kate realize it was even there to begin with, and when Kate turns back to concentrate on driving, it feels like both her feet are finally back on the ground. She wonders if maybe America feels the same.

They don’t talk again right away, but it doesn’t feel so dangerous to turn on the first weird indie pop playlist she has on her iPod.

It takes ten minutes for America to say, very calmly, “This is awful.”

Kate laughs and makes no move to change it.

“So where are we going?” America asks when they’ve made it one state over. Kate glances at America out of the corner of her eye.

“I have no idea,” she admits, and nearly runs them into a sign, suprised, when America laughs.  

“In that case, we are definitely listening to something else,” she says, snatching up Kate’s iPod to find something she likes a bit more. Kate lets her, which is how they both end up rapping to Nicki Minaj at the top of their lungs five minutes later. It’s not quite what Kate was expecting when she called America, but she has a hard time saying she minds.

It’s feels like a bit of a turning point, America like this, easy and laughing. It makes Kate want to ask her why she’s so angry all the time. What’s she running from? What’s her damage? But Kate doesn’t think they’re quite there yet, and she wants to keep this America, young and open, for as long as possible.

Three hours into the drive and three-fourths of the way to Boston, America turns down the music.

“Feed me,” she says, like Kate’s been waiting for her to do. She gets off at the next exit, lets America choose the place to eat.

It ends up being a shabby roadhouse, with faded paint and tired waitresses. The food’s good though, the fries crisp and the burgers flavorful. Kate makes happy noises at her food while America shakes her head and it’s good.

Which is why, of course, some third-rate villain decides it’s a great place to try to rob.

America sighs, popping a fry into her mouth.

“We’re good for the damages,” she tells the frightened waitress. Kate has to stifle a laugh because she’s heard that one before, and laughing is probably the worst way to get a robber’s attention.

She probably shouldn’t have worried about it, since America’s throwing punches half a second later. Kate pulls the waitress out of the way, and pulls out her bow, just in case. America’s got it covered.

Kate ends up paying for the damages in the end, but it’s her dad’s credit card, and they only knocked down one wall. He can handle it.

 

*

 

Kate isn’t expecting America to show up unannounced at her place at 11 am on a Saturday morning. She’s got no real plans though, beyond maybe fucking around Clint’s place and annoying him if he’s not busy, so she’ll take whatever America’s got.

“What’s up?” Kate says, leaning against her doorframe. She’s not wearing any shoes and her toes are cold. America looks at her pointedly, so Kate give up on the casual and lets her in. “Seriously though, what are you doing here?”

America shrugs. “It’s my turn to take you somewhere.”

Kate laughs, delighted and goes to put on the coffee.

“You’re here to whisk me off on an adventure?”

“Sure,” America says, noncommittal, because she likes to ruin all of Kate’s fun. She takes the mug Kate hands her.

“That sounds promising,” Kate says anyway. “It’s not like we have a horrible history of destroying property whenever we go out.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t be banned from another coffeeshop,” America says, bored. She dangles the mug from one finger. “We aren’t going to be on 616.”

“We're going on a roadtrip through the Multiverse?” Kate says, eyebrows raised in surprise. In hindsight, she should have figured the only places America would think worth going are off-universe.

“I don’t really think you can call it a roadtrip,” America says, as Kate pours them both coffee. America turns down the sugar when Kate offers it, but takes the milk. “Besides,” she says, “I’ve got a destination in mind. I don’t really think that counts under your definition of a roadtrip.”

“Eh, close enough,” Kate says. She blows at the surface of her coffee. America, because she’s a show-off, takes a sip without waiting. Inwardly, Kate is pouting.

“So, you’re coming?” America asks, like there’s possibly more than one answer, like she might actually say no.

Kate laughs. “Sure, why not?” she says. It’s been a while since she’s done anything even mildly reckless. “Just give me a second to change.”

America shrugs, and continues drinking her coffee. Kate abandons hers on the counter to hunt down clothing.

“Any particular dress code?” she yells from her closet, examining her options.

“Just wear whatever,” America calls back, which isn’t really helpful but whatever. Kate pulls on a pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt, tugging on a pair of sneakers. After a moment, she grabs a hoodie too, partially because who knows how cold it is wherever they are headed (America doesn’t seem to be bothered by things like that, because Kate’s life is unfair), and partially because it’s purple and if America is going to continue being patriotic in all her fashion choices, Kate’s going to wear all the purple she wants.

America’s finished her coffee by the time Kate gets back, and Kate’s is finally cool enough to drink. She downs it in a couple of large sips, and drops both mugs in the sink. When she turns back to America, she’s holding out her hand for Kate to take.

Kate steps up, and grabs it. America grins, and stomps down hard. Light explodes from her floor, bright and blinding, and even after all this time, a bit of Kate still feels a little thrill at all the possibility.

“What’s the chance we’re going to land where you want on first try?” Kate asks. America scowls at her, which Kate thinks is maybe justified, and tugs her into the light.

It never feels like straight falling. Kate always feels like Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole, and even if it only lasts seconds, she still closes her eyes tight every time. She still holds her breath. There’s something terrifying about being surrounded by so much light, like falling straight into an exploding star.

When she opens her eyes again, she’s standing in a clearing. The sun is shining, bright and blue and brilliant, and she’s surrounded on all sides by giant sunflowers, stretching far over her head like a rainforest. It’s a little bit magical.

“Where are we?” she asks, spinning around to take it all in. When she looks at America again, America is smiling.

“Earth-8317, I think,” America says. She shrugs. “I thought you’d like it.”

“It’s amazing,” Kate says. The whole place looks untouched, like humans haven’t been there for years. Who knows. Maybe they haven't. In infinite realities, of course there’s at least one where humans never got around to breathing.

“Kate,” America says softly. She cocks her head to the side when Kate looks at her. “C’mon.”

America takes her hand again, pulls her into the stalks.

They’re as wide as tree trunks, but fuzzy to the touch. Kate trails her hands along them as America leads her wherever they’re headed. Bright little creatures, in violent shades of cranberry and lime and puce sluggishly inch along them like caterpillars, except they only have one big eye and hands that look human. Kate watches them as she passes and trusts America not to get them too lost.

It’s maybe only five minutes of walking, even if it feels like longer, before the sunflower trees start to shrink in size, gradually getting smaller and smaller until they’re in the sort of field she might expect to see back home, with the flowers no more than a head taller than her. It still looks like something out of a film or a fairytale.

It’s not much farther until they reach a clearing that looks almost like a crop circle. America drops her hand and drops to the ground, totally unconcerned, so Kate doesn’t mention it. There are shrubs there, clinging to the edges of the ring of sunflowers, holding brilliantly white berries, the size of strawberries but shaped like blackberries. Kate picks a few, holds them under the blue sunlight where they shine like snow.

”These aren’t poisonous, right?” Kate asks, rolling one juicy berry around in her palm.

“Nope,” America says, but America’s lying on her back, eyes closed, basking in the sunshine like a cat.

“You sure?” Kate asks again. She’s pretty sure America’s rolling her eyes, even with them closed.

“Yup,” she says. Kate’s not sure she believes her but she’s willing to take the chance. Besides, if they really were, Kate’s sure America wouldn’t let her actually eat them, and if America’s wrong, Kate’s still pretty sure America won’t let her die. She pops one into her mouth and hopes for the best.

Tart, is the first word to come to her mind. It takes moment to place the actual taste, something like the bastard child of a blueberry and a raspberry with a hint of mint. It’s strange, maybe even a little off-putting, but it’s cool and refreshing, and she eats a few more anyway before flopping down onto her back.

The sky stretches out above, a pale yellow that makes the sunflowers look like molten gold. Kate stuffs her jacket behind her head and stares up into the sky.

America doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move. Kate’s half-convinced she’s taking a nap. Kate doesn’t mind. It’s nice to just lay down and relax, enjoy the sunshine, the smell of fresh earth and basil on the wind. Right here, right now, there are no responsibilities and Kate lets herself sink into that feeling.

America shifts eventually, breaking Kate out of whatever trance she’s fallen into. She rolls over to look at America.

“How come you never took us anywhere nice, if you knew about this place?” Kate pauses, thinks. “Alternately, what terrifying thing is lurking? Please tell me there are no dragons. I hate dragons.”

America smirks.

“No clue,” she says. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Have you even been here before?” Kate asks, poking at America with a stick until America cracks an eye open to look at her.

“I used to come when I was a kid. I liked it.”

Kate laughs, tries to picture it. She bets America was a cute kid.

“This place is unreal, like the sort of thing you hear about in stories.”

America shrugs.

“You grew up on fairy tales, didn’t you?” Kate says. She sits up, stretches her arms out over her head. America hums, noncommittally.

“Sure,” she says, “the way you grew up on superheroes.”

“Did you always want to be a princess?”

America closes her eyes again. “You always wanted to be a hero, didn’t you?”

Kate laughs, rolls over until she’s pressed up against America’s side. She almost expects America to flinch, but she just stays exactly where she is.

“Trade you,” Kate says, and America opens both eyes this time to look at her. Up-close, her eyes are bright and warm and Kate feels caught.

That’s about when the giant praying mantises appear out of fucking nowhere, so America never does respond. They’re breathing heavily and Kate’s giggling helplessly when they tumble back onto the floor of Kate’s apartment five minutes later, but Kate can’t bring herself to mind all that much.

 

*

 

Her dad’s at the party, which is the only reason Kate can come up for why she does it.

She's been surrounded by pretty girls all her life- the rich and famous sort with money to buy beauty if they hadn’t been born into it, and the superhero sort, women like Whitney Frost and the Black Widow, sexy without trying because of their confidence, but also beautiful in a way that almost seemed unattainable. Attraction to girls, to beautiful women, it isn't anything new. It's just never been the sort of thing Kate was interested in acting on. A pretty face has never been enough for her to want to start something with all those girls she grew up with, and Kate's not plain, she knows she's damn attractive, but that doesn't mean she can suddenly expect Natasha fucking Romanoff of all people to fall for her.

So it's never really been a thing.   

But there's a pretty girl making eyes at her from across the room, and Kate's bored of everything happening at this party and her dad's somewhere nearby, so it seems like a good idea. It’s another way to disappoint him maybe, having socialite Kate Bishop's tryst with women whispered about at the next sort of shindig by men in fancy suits and women in too many pearls, clinking champagne flutes and dabbing their lipstick with dainty napkins to hide their gossiping mouths.

It’s the same sort of impulse that got her caught up in Noh-Varr, something almost-reckless that’s too safe to really be rebellion but feels a little like it anyway. That’s not enough to stop her from heading on over.

"Hi," she says when she gets to the other end of the bar, because Kate's never believed in the necessity of smooth pick-up lines. The girl smiles, all red lips and white, white teeth.

"Hi," she says back, and tilts her head. "Dani."

Kate grins.

"Kate," she says, and then, only because it’s _polite_ , "Can I get you a drink?"

Dani looks at her for a long minute, considering. There’s something like a smirk twisting up a corner of her lips and for a minute she’s just as pretty as Natasha Romanoff and Whitney Frost, maybe even prettier. Dani pushes her hair behind her ear. It’s a mass of black curls, and Kate wonders if it's as soft as it looks, wonders if it still smells like her shampoo.

"You can buy me a drink from my minibar," she says finally, and Kate laughs. She likes her.

"That, I can do,” she says, downing the rest of her drink (a chocolate martini that tastes more like Hershey syrup than alcohol) in one quick swallow, stepping away from the bar. She waves her hand, says, “Lead the way."

Dani meets her eyes and does the same, licks her lips as she sets her glass down. She hops off her stool, one quick, graceful move Kate’s almost jealous of, but then she takes Kate’s hand and Kate gets distracted.

Her eyes are laughing when she looks back at Kate, but Kate can’t quite bring herself to mind. She let’s herself get pulled along.

People may or may not be looking, but Kate doesn't care. She's not drunk, she knows exactly what she's doing, and she wants to do it. Her heart pounds but her hands aren't sweating, aren't shaking. It feels like the beginning of a fight, when all there is left to do is aim, take a deep breath and let her arrows fly.

Dani leads her out of the ballroom, to the row of gilded elevators with their gold doors and floor to ceiling windows. Bless fancy parties in fancy hotels, Kate thinks, and stays close. They're only touching where Dani’s holding her hand but it's enough for now, the very small distance between their skin a promise. They smile at each other, some dumb, cheesy cliché, and Kate's stomach is turning into bubbles. It feels like she's a can of coke someone shook up but didn't open and it's all she can do to keep from giggling inanely. She’s almost grateful when the elevator dings and Dani pulls her inside, away from stupid people and prying eyes.

Dani presses a floor number- seventeen- and then she presses Kate into the wall. The mouth that follows shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it almost does anyway. Dani gets one hand on her hip, keeps the other tangled up with Kate’s fingers, and kisses her slow and sweet. Her mouth tastes like alcohol and Kate's pretty sure when they pull apart she'll have lipstick on her teeth, but she kisses back, pulls Dani in closer. She kisses her until the elevator dings again and then Dani is pulling away. The city is all lights and life spread out below them, and they're both giggling, on the edge of breathless, as they stumble into the hall.

Kate crowds against her back when they get to Dani’s door, breathes against the nape of her neck to watch her shiver.

“Stop that,” Dani says, hip checking her lightly, and then she gets the door open, and gets them inside.

Dani steps back to kick off her heels, terrifying black things with spikes and sparkles. Kate grins, steps back in.

“Come here often?” she says, just to make Dani laugh.

“Clearly not often enough.” She drops her purse on the floor, tugging Kate’s clutch out of her hand.

"Still want that drink?" Kate asks, even as she’s leaning in to kiss Dani again. She can feel Dani’s smile stretching across her lips.

"Maybe later," she whispers, before pressing right up into Kate.

Kate doesn't quite know what she's doing but she knows what she likes, knows what feels good to her, and it's easy to kiss, to touch, to bury her hands in long soft hair. Dani smells like mangoes and she groans when Kate's fingers get caught in her curls. She kisses like it's all she wants to be doing in life.

"Alright by me," Kate says when she pulls back, breathing hard, and lets Dani push the straps of her dress down her shoulders. They haven’t bothered to turn on anything but the first light by the door and it’s dark the further they step into the room. Kate gets Dani’s dress unzipped without much help and together they push it down her shoulders, over her hips until it’s a puddle of fabric on the floor. Kate’s dress follows.

Tomorrow, when she picks it up, it’ll have wrinkles that won't come out without a truly disgusting dry cleaner's bill and Kate can’t give a single damn because right now she's got a pretty girl standing in front of her in nothing but lacy underwear and gold jewelry.

Kate gets a hand around her neck to pull her back in. She’s just a bit shorter and it’s weird and different and a little brilliant. Kate’s hand is pale against her, the city lights filtering through the windows just enough to see the stretches of Dani's golden skin, the sliver of her smile, quick and devastating. Kate’s kissing her again before she can even think about it, pressing close, thigh to thigh, hip to hip.

Unhooking Dani’s bra is the next logical step, easy to take. Dani sheds it without a concern, grinning up at Kate like there’s nothing to be scared of. For a moment, just a moment, the way the light catches her eyes reminds Kate of Noh-Varr. Dani is sweet, someone who clearly likes to have fun, and that’s what relaxes her more than anything else.

“Last chance for that drink,” Kate mumbles into the curve of Dani’s neck, the dips of her collarbone, and they’re both laughing when Dani tumbles them into bed.

Dani slides her legs, smooth and cool, in between Kate’s, helps her kick of her shoes. She twists until she’s on her back, Kate above her.

Kate hesitates, just a moment, leaning over Dani, but then Dani laughs again, reaches up to tug Kate’s hair out of its bun. It falls around them both, like a curtain that blocks out the rest of the world and Kate forgets to be nervous, forgets that she’s never done this before. She leans down and kisses Dani, presses into her until she forgets how simple it is to breathe.

 

*

 

Kate sits up when America finally emerges from the on-suite, dressed in an old pair of Kate’s sleep shorts and the oversized t-shirt she stole off Clint months ago. Purple looks good on her, Kate thinks idly.

She rolls over on the bed to make room, careful to avoid spilling any more wine on the comforter (Merlots are a bitch to get out, she’s learned). She must look pretty ridiculous trying to wriggle over while holding a bottle aloft, because America rolls her eyes, steps towards the bed, and easily plucks it from her hand.

She takes a quick swig while she’s at it, and Kate’s just tipsy enough to gape.

“So you aren’t deathly allergic to alcohol after all?” she says, and makes one more twist until she’s lying on her stomach. She props her chin on her hands, eyes America.

America pulls a face, long-suffering.

“It tends to not affect me much, so I don’t bother.”

Kate groans and flops down, burying her face into a pillow.

“You fucking Captain America types,” she grumbles and makes blind grabby hands at the bottle. America doesn’t give it to her, so Kate turns her head just enough to stare, one-eyed, at America. She’s not quite sure she can out-stubborn America right now, but she’s willing to try.

After a minute, America lets up and Kate snatches the bottle back. She maybe curls over it protectively. America doesn’t even bother to roll her eyes this time, Kate can tell. Her face says enough as is.

“Shut up and get in bed,” Kate says. America doesn’t move.

“You have a guest room,” she says. “You have _two_ guest rooms.”

“Yes. Yes, I do. I also have a really big bed in this room,” Kate counters with, struggling up onto her elbows so she can give America the best puppy eyes she’s got. Kate decides to blame Clint for that one, instead of feeling vaguely ridiculous. She’s clearly been spending too much time around him.

America still hesitates. Kate sighs.

She sets the bottle on her side table, rolling over onto her side to face America. “Just get into bed, America.”

America does.

She lies flat on her back, far enough away that Kate has to stretch her legs as far as she can before she can reach her. She kicks her lightly, on principle. America huffs.

“You didn’t go to all that many sleepovers as a kid, did you?” Kate asks, before she can think not to. America does something with her shoulders that might be a shrug.

“Not really,” she says, but it comes out more like a question than it should. Kate frowns.

“What did you do then?” Kate asks.

“My mothers were heroes,” America says. She doesn’t say heroes the way Kate’s used to people saying it, like it’s a good thing. “I did whatever kids do, I don’t know.”

Kate hums a bit.

“So, what? You went on grand adventures exploring the Multiverse? Got caught up with a band of misfits and hooked up with weird ass dudes?”

America frowns.

“Well, what about you? You joined up with a group of incompetent teenaged superheroes who actually thought hiking in Latveria was a good idea.”

“Hey, I wasn’t judging,” Kate says, raising one hand in her defense. She laughs. “They were pretty incompetent back then, though.”

America makes a noise, almost like a very delicate snort.

“Understatement,” Kate thinks America says under her breath, but she can’t be sure. Kate shrugs.

“They were idiots who fucked it all up, but they were good kids, you know. I could see that, even back then. It was easy to want to be a part of that.” Kate smiles, fond. “I was so tired of always feeling like a victim back then. I took archery and self-defense and did well in school but no matter what I did, I couldn’t seem to shake it. I wanted to be stronger- I wanted to _feel_ stronger. And there were these dumb boys who couldn’t superhero themselves out of paperbags, and I looked at that and felt like I could fix it.”

“So you just joined up?” America asks, and Kate can read the skepticism all over her face.

“I hunted them down and then I ran into Cassie. I couldn’t not join up then and they couldn’t say no. Not to the both of us.” Kate shrugs again, as best she can. “I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

“Tell me about her,” America says, not really a question. She’s looking at Kate intently, the tips of her mouth turned down. Kate closes her eyes, rolls onto her back.

“Cassie? She was my best friend. She was the best friend I’ve ever had. She was different than all the girls I grew up with or went to school with. She liked boys and fashion and painting her nails, but she was solid, you know, in a way they never were. We cared about the same sort of things. We were young and dumb and so jaded and so idealistic.”

Kate pauses, opens her eyes. She reaches her right arm out towards the ceiling, stretching, and carefully doesn’t look at America.

“I think, losing her dad, it really did something to her. She adored him, dreamt of being just like him. And I understood that. We just got each other. She was so easy to love- the sort of person people call sunshine personified, you know. One of those people.”

She risks a glance at America. She still has that slight frown on her face, but her eyes are kind.

Kate says, “She was just- she was good,” and then can’t say anything else. Her eyes feel hot and her throat feels closed up and for a moment all she can do is close her eyes and breathe in the dark. She wants to find the wine bottle, but it’s too far away, out of her reach.

America waits her out.

“Tell me about your moms?” Kate says when she can open her eyes and feel almost like herself again. Outside, somewhere far, far away, someone honks their horn, and if Kate strains her ears, she thinks she can hear someone laughing, drunk and free.

Inside, across the sheets, America hesitates.

“It’s only fair,” Kate says. It’s not a nice card to play, but Kate’s still closer to drunk than not and she still feels a little rubbed raw. She wants to sink into her sheets and hide, let America take over on the emotions front for a little while. She thinks that’d be nice.

“Like I said, they were heroes,” America says finally. Kate turns her head, to watch her talk. “They created a perfect world. Everyone loved them. They sacrificed themselves for the greater good of everyone. They were kind. They loved what they did. They didn’t regret a single thing.”

America pauses, and Kate reaches out, grabs her hand. It seems like the thing to do. She can recognize absentee parents when she sees them.

“I’m not like the rest of you, you know,” America says suddenly, turning to look back at Kate. “You guys put on your costumes and put on your codenames like they are things you can shake off at the end of the day. I don’t. This is who I am. I’m not trying to somehow balance both. I’m not trying to lead something like a normal life. I don’t try to separate them.

It’s not wrong, the way you do it, but sometimes it’s like you guys forget- that you’re more than your costume or your codename or your skillset.”

She shakes her head, says, “You’re more than someone’s legacy.”

It’s maybe the most America’s ever said to her or anyone on the team, for that matter, and at any other moment Kate might make a joke about that, but even drunk, Kate recognizes that this is important. That Billy and Teddy and Tommy and her, they aren’t the only ones struggling to carry on an impossible legacy. She doesn’t know how to show that though, to let America know she understands. Instead she turns back onto her side and inches forward until she can press her forehead to America’s shoulder. She focuses on the hand she’s holding, lifts one of America’s fingers, then another. She fits them together, palms pressing warm and tight.

“I think you’d all be happier if you stopped trying to be all the things you think you’re supposed to be and just be who you want to be,” America says quietly.

“Okay,” Kate says, because she doesn’t know what else to say to that. In the darkness, she thinks America might be smiling.

 

*

 

“That looks horrible,” America says, wrinkling her nose. Kate takes a big bite just to spite her.

“It’s so good though,” she manages to say, even with her mouth full of ice cream. America continues to look skeptical, which Kate can’t actually blame her for. Sesame seed ice cream, as delicious as it may be, is an unappetizing grey. Kate was actually thinking about using it for brains at the hypothetical Halloween party she wants to throw. It’d be fun.

“I have a hard time believing that,” America says, so Kate pouts at her.

“Seriously, it pretty much tastes like peanut butter, but better,” she says. She spoons up another bite, holds it out. “Try it.”

America lifts an eyebrow and makes no move towards the spoon.

“Why don’t you just get peanut butter then?”

Kate sighs, eats the bite herself.

“A, this is a hipster coffee shop. B, I said _better_. And C, where would be the fun in that?” she says, ticking them off on her fingers. “Now stop being a coward and open up.”

“Did you just dare me?” America scoffs, eyeing the new spoonful Kate holds on. “Are you also going to make helicopter noises?”

“Fuck off,” Kate says cheerfully, holding out the spoon. She’s determined to wait America out. She could totally out-stubborn her. Kate’d bet on it.

It maybe takes a minute, the ice cream melting between them and dripping on the table, before America gives in. She very pointedly takes the spoon from Kate first, but Kate will let America have it. Small victories and all that.

“Good, right?” Kate says, smug, when America snags a second bite.

America smiles a little, just the tips of her lips curved up, around the spoon, and Kate stops feeling quite so smug.

The thing is, she’s never seen America make that face before, except for maybe that time with the Korean BBQ on Earth-212.

The thing is, America is different from everyone else Kate knows. She isn’t effusive about the things she loves, not like Billy and Teddy are in all their dorky glory, or the way Tommy is, all in with his heart even as he vehemently protests it. She’s not like David, who _understands_ loving things before he ever loves them. She’s not like Eli who was shy and sweet or Cassie who was made for love, for being loved. She’s not like Noh-Varr and his boundless enthusiasm for the things he loves, simple and clean, or like Clint earnest and awkward with his affection.

America loves things with mystery, with half-smiles and softened eyes, with solemnness, with an understanding that _this_ , this is the sort of thing worth living for.

America closes her eyes and _savors_.

Kate swallows.

“That was mine,” she says helplessly when America steals the rest of her ice cream, but she eats America’s Rocky Road when America shoves it at her anyway.

 

*

 

“Do you own anything remotely fancy?” Kate says into the phone. She’s hopping through her foyer, trying to kick off her shoes, while not dropping her bag, bow, laptop or phone, but even then, she can hear America’s confusion through the phone.

“What.”

It’s not a question, Kate can tell. She laughs, finally manages to get her sneaker over her heel.

“Just bring over your best clothes, you’re coming to this party with me,” she says, and hangs up before America can protest.

Kate’s checking her Facebook when America shows up twenty minutes later with a garment bag. She eyes Kate askance when Kate makes no move towards it.

“I thought you wanted to see my clothes.”

“Yeah, yeah, later,” Kate says, waving her hand about vaguely. They’ve still got a couple hours before the party even starts and Kate fully intends to arrive fashionably late. She can tell America’s frowning at her, even without looking.

“Apparently Scottie Moore is getting married to Justin DeWitt,” she adds after a minute, when America still hasn’t said anything. She clicks on a new link. “We went to high school together. I need to keep up on these sorts of things.”

“So you’re what, Facebook stalking?” America asks finally coming to sit beside her on the bed. “Do any of them even know about the Hawkeye thing?”

Kate laughs.

“Probably not. It’s not the sort of thing they’d be terribly impressed with either.” She shrugs. “I’m not Iron Man, you know?”

America looks mildly unimpressed and terribly judgmental. Kate rolls her eyes.

“Here, entertain yourself,” she says, tossing the closest magazine available at her. It’s a US Weekly. America’s frown deepens, but she picks it up. Kate kind of enjoys the faces she makes as she flips through it, gets caught up watching her for a few minutes before she turns back to her computer.

“I think there’s an article about the Kardashians in there somewhere. I know how much you love them,” she says, making one last run through Justin DeWitt’s Greece Vacation pictures. She can practically hear America’s grimace.

Kate finally shuts her computer, rolls over onto her back to stare at the ceiling.

“Ugh,” she says with feeling. “I don’t want to go.”

America looks up from the magazine. “Then why are we?”

“Reasons,” Kate says, waving her hand around. She rolls to her feet, heading for the bag America brought. It’s maybe half-full of clothes, all of it decent, but not quite right for the sort of party Kate’s dragging her to.

“We’ll have to go shopping,” Kate says sadly, flipping through it all again. “Do you even own anything that isn’t red, white and blue and patriotic all over?”

She enjoys the look on America’s face.

“At least I own clothes in more than one color,” America says, plucking at the purple tank Kate’s wearing. Kate sticks out her tongue, batting America’s hand away.

“Bite me,” she says cheerfully and grabs her purse.

 

*

 

“These are awful,” America says, fingers splayed out in front of her. She brings one hand up to squint at her nails critically. “It’s actually impressive how awful you are at this.”

“Shut up,” Kate says, flopping down on the bed beside her. America’s still in the dress Kate got her for the party, though she’s long since lost the heels. There are no stars and no stripes to be seen on any of it, but Kate couldn’t quite get her from abandoning the whole red, white and blue color scheme. She can’t talk though. Kate’s own dress is a puddle of purple silk in her closet, and the sports bra she is wearing is more purple than not.

She leans over to look at America’s nails. They really are awful. Kate’s maybe too drunk to keep her hands from shaking. She shrugs.

“Like you’re any better,” she says. America pauses, looks at her for a long moment before rolling to her feet and finding Kate’s stash of nail polish.

It takes America all of a minute to prove that she really is better.

“Why are you so good at this?” Kate grumbles, frowning down at her right hand. It’s nothing fancy, just alternating red and blue nails, but it’s clean, no messy edges or unfortunate smudges.

America smirks, and doesn’t answer, because even now, trying to learn anything about America is like pulling a bear’s tooth with bare hands- impossible and also kinda really dumb. Kate finds it endlessly annoying.

She reaches out with her as of yet unpainted hand, and pushes America’s face into the pillows. Maybe negative reinforcement will work on her.

America pulls her head up immediately, grabbing at her wrist to keep Kate from pushing her again. Kate’s too nice to risk nailpolish in America’s hair by using the other hand.

“You are drunk,” America says, rolling over so she can keep Kate’s hand trapped on the bed. Very carefully, she begins painting Kate’s index finger.

“That, I am,” Kate says, pleased. “It was a really awful party.”

America looks up at her. “So you dragged me to it?”

Kate shrugs. It wasn’t actually that bad, Kate knows. She thinks, at some points, America may have even had fun. She seemed to enjoy the bit where she kept all the guys in the room from hitting on them just by staring at them very intently whenever they got close, at least. Kate will take it.

“It would have been worse without you,” she says, after a minute, watching America finish her thumb in one smooth stroke. She caps the bottle tightly before dropping it somewhere on the floor and rolling back onto her back. Kate follows her, rolling over until she’s on her back as well. It also means she’s more on America than not.

America huffs and slides slowly out from underneath her. Kate tilts her head to beam up at her.

“You are ridiculous,” America says, quiet like she can’t quite decide if she wants Kate to hear it or not.

Kate ignores it, either way, and blows on her nails. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance it’s a totally useless move. She’ll wake up with them fucked up no matter what. Kate’s pretty bad at nail polish. She doesn’t even know why she has so much of it.

“I want more wine,” Kate says, pouting.

America, says, with feeling, “ _No_.”

Kate pouts harder, but she’s too lazy to actually get up and find any. America laughs right in her face. Kate wrinkles her nose but can’t be bothered to do much else.

She flails out a hand, whacks America’s arm with her knuckles.

“You should change. Go find some clothing,” she commands, pointing in the general direction of the closet.

“Why?” America says, because she can never make anything easy. Kate rolls her eyes.

“C’mon, you are definitely staying here tonight,” she says, sitting up. She tips back over sideways a moment later, but it still gives America more room on the bed, which was her general goal. The bed is big enough for the both of them and they’ve already done this before. America has no reason to leave.

“Don’t drink and fly and all that,” she slurs, already falling asleep.

“I’m not drunk,” America points out.

“Whatever,” Kate says, and throws her legs over America to keep her from leaving. America hadn’t actually moved, but Kate figures it was good move, just in case.

America laughs, shoves her off.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t staying,” she says, and goes to find clothes. Kate waits until she crawls back in bed to fall asleep.

 

*

 

Her dad’s home when she drags America in, arm in arm because America lets her. Kate wasn’t expecting that, since its midday on a Tuesday, and she stops short just inside the doorway, mid-laugh. America tenses a little beside her. Her father raises an eyebrow, shooting a quick glance between the two.

He was less mad about the surprise bisexuality than Kate had been hoping, and because Kate’s never been good about not being stupid when her father is involved, the first thing out of her mouth is,

“Dad, this is America. My girlfriend.”

Her dad’s eyebrows climb a little higher on his face.

“Your girlfriend?” he says, in the same way he used to say, _you want to take archery lessons?_ or _you_ don’t _want the pony?_

Kate frowns, carefully doesn’t look at America when she slides her hand down to grab America’s. America’s still tense, but she isn’t protesting, isn’t trying to deny it, so Kate will worry about that in a minute.

“Yup,” she says, plastering her biggest smile on her face, and pulls America away, upstairs where he can’t treat her like a kid (even if a big part of her realizes she’s maybe acting like one).

“Your girlfriend?” America says when they’re safe in her room and Kate’s dropped her hand. Kate turns to look at her for the first time. America doesn’t look angry, per say, but she doesn’t look _not_ angry either. Kate shrugs.

“Yeah, whatever,” Kate says, looking away again. She goes to hunt down the remote, give her hands something to do. “It’s complicated.”

“Why are you even here?” America asks.

“Hm?” Kate says, half-distracted, trying to grab the remote from under the couch.

“You have your own apartment?” America reminds her, and this time, when Kate looks up at her, she _is_ frowning.

Kate stands up, dusting nonexistent dirt from her pants. “Yeah, but that doesn’t come with free coffee, Wi-Fi or the ability to piss off my dad,” she says, trying for flippant. She flexes her hands. America’s frown gets deeper.

“I don’t get you,” she says finally, shaking her head like Kate’s managed to disappoint her. There’s a lot of things Kate wants to say to that, things like _why do you care so much?_ and maybe _I’m sorry_ but the words get stuck in her throat. So instead, she says,

“Yeah, well, you ran away from home. You don’t get to judge me.”

She’s got her arms crossed against her chest, but Kate isn’t sure when she did that. She feels jittery, defensive, her skin too small to hold all of her. She feels a little like she wants to punch something, like that might make it better. She wonders if this is how America feels all the time.

“Fair enough,” America says after a moment, and settles down into the couch. Kate stares at her, startled, maybe even worried. She’s never seen America back down from a fight before and Kate would definitely deserve one right about now.

America doesn’t look at her again though, and Kate doesn’t know what to do or say. In the end, she sits down and turns on the TV.

 

*

 

Kate’s running late, so Mr. Lang’s already ordered- a BLT for him, burger and fries for her, and shitty coffee for both. She hasn’t been to the diner since Cassie died, but it seemed like the sort of place to go for this. It’s one of those shabby diners with all the clichés, yellowing lights and seats made of cracked, glittering, pink vinyl. There’s a broken jukebox in the corner and the waitresses dress like it’s still the 50’s. Cassie and her had loved this place, for being silly and simple and warm.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, sliding into the booth Mr. Lang’s staked out in the back corner. His smile is small but it’s genuine.

“It's fine, Kate,” he says, nudging a mug at her. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” she says, and means it more than she can actually express. “There was just a lot of traffic.”

“It’s supposed to rain.”

“That’s what the news report said,” Kate agrees, and takes a sip of her coffee. It’s just as awful as she remembered, lukewarm with the lingering taste of burnt. The mug still warms her hands.

“That might be nice,” Mr. Lang says. He runs a finger along the edge of the table, glances out the window where people are hurrying on by.

“Yeah,” Kate says, and can’t help thinking about how much Cassie loved the rain, how she used to twirl around in it like a cliché while the rest of them huddled beneath umbrellas. Mr. Lang nods once, sharp, like he’s maybe remembering something similar.

“Cassie,” Kate starts, because they’ve spent two minutes already dodging this elephant very badly and Cassie deserves better than that. “Cassie used to talk about you all the time- tell all these stories about growing up with a hero for a dad, surrounded by Avengers and scientists and X-Men. I was always so jealous.”

Mr. Lang doesn’t say anything, and Kate laughs quietly.

“I spent all my time trying to piss my dad off, and she spent all of hers trying to make you proud, even when you weren’t around to see.” Kate shrugs. She doesn’t really have a point. Some days, she misses Cassie so much it’s hard to breathe. Mr. Lang looks into his mug like it has any answers. He looks tired. Kate knows the feeling, maybe not totally, but enough.

“A few months ago, I snuck into the Latverian Embassy during a party and drew a hot pink mustache on Doom’s portrait,” he says after a minute, and Kate’s surprised into a laugh. She covers her mouth with a hand.

“How did you even manage that?” she asks in between laughs. Mr. Lang grins.

“Shrunk down real small. Road a bug. Almost ended up in some woman’s nostril,” he says, and Kate can’t stop giggling, picturing it. She laughs until her eyes are watering and maybe she’s crying a little bit. Mr. Lang laughs with her, soft and sheepish.

“Cassie would have loved that,” she says, when she has herself mostly under control.

Mr. Lang smiles, a touch wistful, and Kate reaches out to touch his hand.

“She would have, wouldn’t she,” he says, and for a minute, he looks just like the man in all the pictures Cassie ever showed them, serious and sweet and whole.

“Cassie helped me prank Tommy once,” Kate blurts out, when she can’t stand the silence any longer. Mr. Lang looks at her, curious, and Kate ducks her head. She bites her lip. “It was stupid. Tommy was being annoying and I couldn’t figure out how to get him to shut up. Cassie came up with this whole convoluted thing- it involved fake ids and pregnant women, and just, it was ridiculous, but it was brilliant. Tommy managed to actually have manners for a whole two days. It was impressive.”

“That’s my girl,” Mr. Lang says, and he looks proud. She wishes Cassie could have been there to see it.

 _Happy Birthday, Cass_ , she thinks as softly as she can, and sits back so their waitress can slide their plates onto the table.

“How are you doing now?” Mr. Lang asks eventually, when he’s halfway through his sandwich. Kate blinks, strangely surprised.

“The team? We’re- we’re okay.” She pauses, actually thinks about it. “We’ve been better, but we’ve been worse too, you know? But I think we’re going to be alright.”

Scott smiles, and it’s one of the saddest things she’s ever seen. She wonders how many people he’s lost over the years. She wonders if any of them are ever alright. She thinks, maybe this isn’t the business for people who want to be happy.

“You got some new members. They planning on sticking around?”

“I think so,” Kate says. She thinks about David’s brain and Noh-Varr’s enthusiasm and America, steady and sure and maybe still running from something.

She says, “I hope so.”

But there’s a lot of things Kate’s hoped for that never came true. She’s never been able to stop people from leaving, no matter how badly she wanted it.

“It never gets easier, does it? Losing people,” she asks, and doesn’t expect an answer. Mr. Lang’s face is answer enough, so sad and distant and old.

“No,” he says anyway. “It never really does.”

His smile is a bitter thing, and Kate looks away. She twirls a fry in her ketchup. Mr. Lang takes a long sip of coffee. They don’t talk again for a long time.

 

*

 

Kate turns up the television another few notches to block out the rain, grabs the popcorn and a small store’s worth of candy and throws herself on the couch. America’s still standing, because even after all these months, she’s still strangely useless at this. It might be Kate’s fault this time, but Kate’s never been good at saying sorry.

“Jesus, sit down already,” Kate says, throwing kernels of popcorn at America until she does, because that is the best peace offering she can give, as graceless as it is. America tucks her feet under her body when she sits, shoots Kate a half second smile like maybe America’s forgiven her mostly anyway.

A piece of popcorn is caught in her hair and she doesn’t seem to realize it. Kate doesn’t say anything, but she can’t quite stop from snickering. America raises an eyebrow at her. Kate’s not sure if she’s attempting to convey y _ou are awful at this_ or a _re you five?_

Kate ignores it either way, ripping open the bag of Red Vines. She offers one to America. America’s eyebrow remains raised.

Kate huffs, and eats it instead. The Harry Potter theme begins playing as the film starts, _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ flashing up on the screen after a minute. It takes America all of five minutes and one floating aunt to give in and snag the bag of Pulparindo Kate bought just for her. Kate smirks, but resolutely remains focused on the movie. America grabs a handful of popcorn and promptly throws it at her face.

“Seriously? Are you five?” Kate says willfully ignoring any and all hypocrisy in that statement. Naturally, she retaliates by pinching America in the side.

America retaliates with tickling.

Kate probably should have seen that move coming, but she kind of figured America didn’t play dirty. She likes to punch things. That didn’t really lend itself to subtly or trickery or tickling. Kate shrieks.

She manages to dump half the popcorn on the floor before she can set the bowl down, trying to scramble away from America. There isn’t far to go and America gets her on her back in seconds. Unfortunately, America seems pretty immune to tickles herself, so Kate has to resort to kicking out and trying to catch America off-balance enough to tumble her onto the floor. It doesn’t really work.

Kate lasts maybe another minute, if she’s being generous.

“Okay, truce, truce,” she gasps, and America lets up, smile all smirk. Kate’s still breathing heavily as America settles back in her seat, hair mussed. She got rid of her jacket a while ago, now wearing just a wife beater and shorts, and there’s something about that and her hair and her bare feet and her smile, smaller now, that makes her look softer than normal. For a minute, Kate wants to say something stupid.

Instead she twists her hands in the sleeve of her sweatshirt and tries to catch her breath. Outside it’s still raining, the sky grey and the outside world dampened, colors subdued and sounds muted. The movie flashes blues and yellows and greens, playing across America’s face, but even then, America is golden.  Kate looks away.

She stretches back out after a while. On screen the trio are sitting on the train, talking about Sirius Black. Kate pokes America in the thigh once, and then again, and then she just leaves her feet there in America’s lap. America doesn’t question it, doesn’t make a face or anything, so she steals a handful of the Pulparindo. She unwraps one and pops it into her mouth, just to get a reaction out of America. The candy itself isn’t all that bad, a little weird and not exactly her thing, but America’s frown is enough to keep her carefully protecting her stolen loot.

America rolls her eyes after a minute, and settles back to watch the movie again, even if by this point they’ve hopelessly lost the early bits of plot. Kate follows her example.

When Kate looks over again later, America’s still watching and she looks less bored than she could. Kate would miss her if she was gone. She’d miss having another girl on the team, she’d miss having another friend but mostly she’d just miss America.

She pokes America again to get her attention.

“You still thinking about leaving?” she asks, quieter than she means too, and isn’t sure she really wants to know the answer. America frowns. Even with the movie playing and the rain outside, everything feels hushed and muted. Kate maybe holds her breath for a moment. On screen someone screams and Kate jumps.

“I don’t think about not coming back,” America says after a while, and it’s not a lot, but Kate will take it. She smiles.

America wraps a hand around one of her ankles, and it takes all of Kate’s carefully accumulated reflexes not to flinch away in surprise. America’s grip is gentle, but she doesn’t really touch much- Kate’s half-convinced America doesn’t do non-violent physical contact- so it’s all a little terrifying, to have her hand warm and solid over a bone that is so delicate. Her hands are small and soft and Kate's skin is so pale. She shivers, wiggles her toes a little, breathes, but she doesn't move her feet away.

“If you ever need somewhere to stay, you can always come here,” Kate says, before she can stop herself. She waves a hand about, tries to play it off with nonchalance. “I’ve got the space.”

America frowns at her, but it isn't confused or mad. Kate's starting to think that maybe that's just the way she looks when she's thinking.

“Here,” Kate says, twisting around to rummage in her bag. She pulls out her keys, slips one off the ring, and offers it to America. “I have an extra.”

America doesn’t move. Kate huffs and sets the key on the side table. America can take it if she wants it.

America raises an eyebrow but she doesn’t say anything. Suddenly, Kate feels exhausted. She twists onto her side, focusing back on the TV. She's seen this film enough to know how it goes. It's nice. America doesn't move her hand away, keeps it wrapped around her ankle.

Kate feels safe. It's probably the combination of that and the sound of America breathing softly nearby, and maybe the rain outside that lures her to sleep.

America’s gone when she wakes up, but the key is too. Kate counts it as a win, pulls the closet blanket over her, and goes back to sleep.

 

*

 

Kate would show up at America’s door, but she never did figure out where America lived. She texts her instead, an address and a _meet me at 7_. She tacks on _wear something vaguely nice_ at the last minute, and goes to get ready.

Kate’s only been at the restaurant ten minutes when the waiter shows America in, and she can’t help but smile. She’s maybe gotten used to America showing when Kate tells her too, but she hadn’t quite been holding her breath.

America’s there though, in black pants and combat boots, wearing a blouse that has enough stars and spangles to make Captain America cry, and it’s better than Kate actually expected. She maybe enjoys the side-eyes everyone else gives them a little too.

America raises her eyebrows when she sits down, but she doesn’t actually ask why they’re here. Kate’s maybe feeling a little defensive though, because she says,

“They have really good steak, you’ll love it.”

“Alright,” America says, easy, and let’s Kate pour her wine. Kate relaxes.

They don’t really talk but they don’t _not_ talk either.

“Noh-Varr wants me to go to a show with him next Friday- Iggy Azalea?” America says and Kate laughs.

Kate says, “I DVRed the latest Kardashian episodes,” just to see America grimace.

Kate’s not drunk, barely even touches her wine, but she finds herself laughing at everything America says, smiling for the hell of it. The whole thing goes better than she expected, even if Kate isn’t even sure at this point what she expected. They get dessert and Kate gets the bill, doesn’t even bother looking at the price, and it’s good. It’s easy.

It’s late when they finally stumble out, too full and laughing. The city is awash with lights and sound, everything Kate’s ever loved about it. She turns to America, feeling full up on life.

“Thanks for, you know, coming,” Kate says, her hands buried in the pockets of her coat. They’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk, a constant stream of people flowing around them, but Kate doesn’t really care. “Do you want me to give you a ride home?”

America tilts her head, looking at her for a long minute. Kate startles when she grins, sudden and bright.

“Just because you bought me dinner doesn’t mean I’m going to put out,” she says, and then she’s stepping closer and kissing Kate, sudden and hard. Kate makes a noise, surprised, before pushing closer, hands still caught up in her pockets. America’s hands are on her jaw, the base of her skull, and it’s not quite what Kate was angling for, except how, in hindsight, she thinks it totally was.

Her eyes are closed and her lips sting when America pulls away.

“Thanks for dinner,” America says, her grin gone smug, and then she’s launching herself into the air. Kate watches her fly off, staring like everyone around her, before heading to her car. If she touches her lips once or twice like a cliché, no one but her has to know.

 

*

 

Clint’s still asleep when she lets herself into his place, so she puts on coffee and steals the last of his sugar when it’s ready.

She’s on her second cup by the time Clint wakes up and wanders out of his room. He’s shirtless, with half a day’s worth of facial hair decorating his face and bedhead so intense Kate’s half surprised someone doesn’t follow him out. He looks stupid and stupidly attractive and for a moment Kate’s torn between being glad she’s never had more than a half-second crush on him and wishing it had been so much more. It would have been easier to deal with.

“Katie Kate,” Clint says somewhere in the midst of a yawn. He scratches at his stomach and makes no effort to find a shirt. Lucky barks at him, affronted, so Clint goes and gives him a nice long belly rub. Kate tries not to roll her eyes. Clint’s not at his best when he first wakes up. It’d be cruel to make fun of him for it.

He glances back at her again.

“Why are you lying on my floor?” Clint asks, cocking his head to the side. He looks like Lucky when he does that. Kate tries not to laugh.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” she says instead of answering, stretching her arms out over her head. Clint shakes his head, mutters something she can’t hear.

He’s still talking when he heads into the kitchen, but Kate doesn’t really care what he’s saying. She tunes out the sounds of his banging about, looking for a clean mug. He really needs to do his dishes. He also needs to clean his floor, Kate decides, staring at the ceiling. The ceiling is boring and the floor is gross. She’d clean it herself, but she isn’t his keeper. Besides, he needs to be better at these things.

“You need to vacuum your floor,” she tells him. Clint comes back out and stares at her, but she only half notices. “You are a grown ass adult, you should be able to vacuum your floor. Or hire someone to do it. You totally have the money. And you should get your shower fixed while you are at it. Someday that thing will kill you if you don’t.”

“What’s going on in your head, girlie?” Clint says, and she’s got to look pretty pathetic if he’s not only noticed, but actual sucked it up enough to ask. Clint’s not a bad guy, it’s just that emotions haven’t ever really been his thing.

To be fair, they aren’t really hers either.

“I don’t even know anymore,” she says, and won’t ever admit she’s glad when the shouting starts up downstairs before he has a chance to respond.

 

*

 

She’s out of ice cream and coffee at her place, and Clint’s got nothing but beer in his fridge again, so she heads to her Dad’s after he passes out on his couch, instead of stealing his bed.

She decently banged up, bruises everywhere from where Clint tripped and took them both down a (very short, thankfully) flight of stairs, and one of her toes has turned a strange color that she’s half convinced isn’t physically possible, but overall the damage isn’t too bad. She’s so tired she could sleep for days, except for the fact that sleeping is the last thing she is capable of doing right now. She’s still a bit wired on the adrenaline, hands only just beginning to shake from the comedown. Clint’s better at handling this sort of thing than her- he’s been doing it for a lot more years after all. The best method Kate’s found, is watching junk TV and eating ice cream straight from the cartoon until she levels out.

She’s barely started her Wife Swap marathon when she hears a tap on her balcony. Kate pauses for a moment, before slowly making her way to the door. When she pulls the curtain aside, America is standing there. Kate laughs a little in disbelief.

“Did my life just turn into a Disney film?” she asks, unlocking the door and pulling America inside. “Where’s your magic carpet?”

America ignores her. Kate suspects she has no idea what Kate’s talking about. Kate adds Aladdin to the list of things to make America watch.

“I tried yours first,” America says, shrugging, and then, “What happened to your face?”

Kate laughs. “Ran into a fist.”

America raises an eyebrow, reaches up to touch the bruise on her forehead. She traces a finger down the small scar from all those months ago in the dragon universe.

“Just a fist?”

Kate shrugs. “There was also a door. It revolved.”

America laughs, because she is an awful person. Kate decides to leave out the bit with the stairs.

“We got the bad guys,” she says, instead.

“Of course you did,” America says, sure, and Kate blinks, warmed. She bites her lip, rocks back on her heels.

“So?” she says drawing it out. America makes this face, like she’s annoyed or unimpressed, maybe both, but then she’s stepping closer to Kate, sliding her hand down around her neck.

 _Ah, there are the butterflies_ , Kate thinks, a little nonsensically, and then America is kissing her, just like Kate had been maybe hoping for.

She’s only done this twice now with a girl, but it’s still so easy, maybe even easier with America. She tilts her head, gets her hands on America’s waist, closes her eyes and kisses back.

“What are you watching?” America asks when she pulls away, glancing to where someone is yelling and throwing things on the TV. She’s so, _so_ judgmental, and Kate’s groaning, even as she pulls America back in.

“Shut up,” she mumbles. America’s laughing when she kisses her again.

Together, they push off America’s jacket, and then her hoodie, letting them fall to the floor. Kate runs her hands down America’s arms, tangles their fingers together for a moment as they kiss. When she let’s go, America’s hands go to her ponytail, tugging out the hair tie until her hair falls down. She pulls away, kisses along Kate’s jaw until she’s reached her ear. They take one stumbling step towards her bed, and then another.

Kate knows her grin is ridiculous, maybe even manic, when America finally pulls back all the way. She can’t keep from reaching out, tracing a finger down America’s face. America’s beautiful in a way Kate’s always known- big eyes and full lips and the sort of curves most girls dream of- but right here, like this, she’s also solid, real, warm underneath Kate’s hands. America kisses her palm, the pale inside of her wrist, and when America looks up to meet her eyes, Kate’s sure neither of them know quite what they’re doing, but Kate’s finally sure that she wants to do it anyway.

America cups her jaw, pulls her back in to kiss her soft and sweet and Kate lets go.

America’s shirt comes off next, getting tangled in too many hands, but America’s smiling when they finally get it over her head. Kate takes one look at her bra, stripped blue and white and can’t not laugh.

“You’re wearing red underwear, aren’t you?” Kate says, through her giggles. She traces the curved edges of one cup with her thumb. America takes another step back towards the bed, angles a brow like a challenge.

“Come and find out, if you want,” she says, and Kate reaches for her, can’t help but crowd in close, curl her fingers into the tops of her jeans.

She smears a kiss across America’s cheek, follows along the curve of her jawline, up under her ear.

“I want,” she whispers, and it’s such a line but Kate can’t bring herself to give a single fuck. Instead she moves America’s hands until they’re at her waist, under her shirt, touching skin, warm and smooth and whole and holy. She presses her smile into the curve of America’s neck.

“Take this off,” she says, tugging at the hem of her own shirt. America pulls back until she can catch Kate’s eye.

“Are you going to do any work here?” she asks, holding on to Kate’s hips. Kate grins.

“Nope,” she says with a wink. “I’m planning on just lying back and thinking of America.”

America makes a pained face, like she regrets every life choice that led her here, but she’s smiling just a bit anyway, impossibly fond.

“Princess,” she says, rolling her eyes, and pulls off Kate’s shirt.

 

*

 

Kate stumbles downstairs twenty minutes after America flies off, hair a mess and in a desperate need of coffee. She’s on her second cup and starting to feel a bit more human when her dad walks in, dressed for golf. It’s possible it is Sunday, but Kate’s not sure about a lot of things anymore.

“Morning,” he says. Kate mumbles a response.

“Sleep well last night?” he asks, and Kate’s too old now to blush at the thought of sex, but a part of her wants to anyway.

She takes a long sip of coffee. “I slept fine.”

Her father makes a sound, possibly an agreement or possibly a request for elaboration. Kate keeps her face in her mug and doesn’t resurface until he’s distracted by his ringing phone.

She tunes out the short conversation and thinks about making a quick escape. She wants to finish her coffee though, and maybe steal one of the bagels in the breadbox. She thinks about heading out instead, maybe crashing one of Billy and Teddy’s brunch dates. They do that now.

Her father hangs up before she can come to a decision.

“How’s your girlfriend doing?” he asks in the next moment, and Kate freezes, taken by total surprise. If she’d been drinking anything, she might have choked.

“She’s good,” she manages after a moment. Her father’s watching her closely, and Kate's life is absurd.

She smiles. “We’re good.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this got away from me when I was writing it, hence the length, but I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Thanks to Nicole and Sarah for betaing/cheerleading/emotional support.
> 
> Title from Marina and the Diamond’s Oh No.


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